All That Remains
by Sabari
Summary: A strange energon reading gets the attention of Decepticons and Autobots alike, the ensuing battle sets it off, with disastrous consequences for all. What do you hold onto when all hope is lost? How do you see, when all light is gone? Probably AU. Non-slash/non-pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N:_**

 ** _This story is set in season 2, between episodes "Alpha/Omega" and "Hard Knocks"._**

 ** _As usual, I'm going to say this story is probably AU, though not especially intentionally so._** ** _As always, this story is completely written. As per usual, I will upload one chapter per day (Barring anything out of the ordinary. I will attempt to give readers a head's up via A/N). This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading. Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best. Or say nothing about it at all, if you would prefer. Do feel free to point out typos, I check my stories before publishing, but I admit my imperfection and would welcome the opportunity to correct any mistakes I may have made._**

* * *

 **Empty _(adjective):_** _Containing nothing; having none of the usual or appropriate contents._

* * *

Working with Smokescreen was exhausting. The rookie was bright, but headstrong and full of his own power. He had an overinflated sense of Autobot importance, and little comprehension of the realities of war. It was Bumblebee's job to see that the youngster continued down the right path he'd been started on.

At least he seemed to grasp the concept of stop lights now, which was something. It was a small victory, but these days Bumblebee was willing to take any victory he could get, no matter the size.

It was raining in the area they were patrolling. Bumblebee got the impression Optimus had specifically picked this area because the weather was drastically different from where the base was, and other places Smokescreen had begun to be familiar with. The rain meant figuring out how to use windshield wipers, which seemed to utterly baffle Smokescreen.

"What're these even for?" Smokescreen wanted to know.

 _{For drivers, so they can see through the windshield,}_ Bumblebee replied evenly.

"But we don't see that way. Why are _we_ doing this when it doesn't do us any good?" Smokescreen persisted.

 _{It's all part of being in disguise,}_ Bumblebee explained, _{If we didn't use our wipers in this kind of weather, it wouldn't go unnoticed. It's not as if it hurts you any.}_

"Maybe not, but the noise it makes sure is irritating," Smokescreen grumbled.

Bumblebee let out a buzz that was nothing but a chuckle, then said _{Many things are, Smokescreen.}_

Smokescreen tried not to crack, struggling to hold on to being annoyed by the noise. But then he finally broke and laughed too, as he recognized the absurdity of being annoyed about such a slight thing as the sound of windshield wipers against glass.

"I guess I really shouldn't complain," Smokescreen admitted, "There are worse things."

 _{Don't worry about it. I had trouble with the wipers when I arrived too. I kept forgetting to turn them on. Just be glad you don't need a holographic driver.}_

"Don't tell me Arcee had trouble remembering that!"

 _{Oh yeah. But don't tell her I said that. She said she'd dismantle me for scrap if I ever mentioned it again, and I'm not sure she was joking,}_ Bumblebee said.

Smokescreen fell into a stunned silence, and Bumblebee tried not to laugh, but failed. The moment the buzzing sound escaped him, Smokescreen laughed too, realizing that Bee was exaggerating at least, and probably making up some or all of what he'd just said to mess with Smokescreen.

Sometimes, when he let himself, Bumblebee almost felt at home on Earth. He had been here for so long, and spent so much time familiarizing himself with the planet's people and culture that he could almost - _almost_ \- forget that this was not the place from which he'd come. That, no matter how beautiful, Earth was not -and could never be- home.

Somehow, instead of making him feel that less, Smokescreen managed to make Bumblebee feel that way even more. It was probably that Smokescreen was such an outsider, everything on Earth was so alien to him, that it made Bumblebee feel somehow more like he actually belonged to this world. Even though Smokescreen reminded him of where he'd started, not just as a visitor to Earth, but a soldier in the Autobot army, it made Bumblebee feel oddly good to know that he truly had come a long way. And it also felt good to know that Smokescreen had that same potential, to become something and someone far more than who and what he was just now.

"Gah!" Smokescreen yelped, as his wheels abruptly skidded, "What was _that_?"

 _{Oil slick on the road,}_ Bumblebee replied, _{Be very careful of that, especially when it's raining.}_

"Oil slick?!" Smokescreen yelped in disbelief, "What kind of backwards planet is this?"

Bumblebee sighed, mentally shaking his head. Smokescreen truly did have so much to learn, and seemingly very little time in which to do it. Bumblebee wasn't sure he was up to the task of educating the rookie, but fortunately it was not a task he had to go at alone. Optimus knew the import of being able to fit in, and was making good and sure everyone had a hand in this kid's upbringing.

Deftly, Bumblebee evaded the oil Smokescreen had run over. He could almost as easily have driven over it and compensated, but that would just be showing off. Not that Bumblebee didn't enjoy showing off. He did, most thoroughly, but now didn't seem like the time. The rookie's voice was edged a little too sharply with alarm to make fun of him just now.

"Next you'll be telling me Earth cars need antifreeze to run their engines," Smokescreen was still on edge, but he recovered from most shocks very quickly, and was already fighting to regain his sense of humor about things.

Bumblebee smiled inside, and answered in the affirmative.

"By the All Spark!" Smokescreen exclaimed, "It's a wonder humans survive at all."

 _{Our technology is superior to theirs in many ways,}_ Bumblebee admitted, paraphrasing something Optimus had once told him, _{But that does not mean_ we _are superior to_ them _.}_

Smokescreen knew a warning when he heard it. He fell silent, absorbing the unspoken meaning behind the words. Bright and good intentioned as he was, it would be all too easy for Smokescreen to become truly arrogant, instead of just cocksure. The latter was bad enough without devolving into the former.

"I understand," Smokescreen said, somewhat subdued.

Bumblebee wasn't fond of issuing rebukes, nor was it his accustomed role, so he readily allowed the subject to drop, rather than pursue it. He hoped that, if he hadn't said enough, Optimus would be able to handle it. Everything Smokescreen said and did would, of course, be in a report to Optimus.

It wasn't just because Smokescreen was a rookie, and it certainly wasn't because Bumblebee didn't trust him. But Autobots kept no secrets from one another. Certainly none kept secrets from Optimus. Smokescreen was perfectly aware of that fact, and -if he was not entirely comfortable with it- accepted it.

Bumblebee's comm unit received a signal. Checking it, he found the call was coming from the Autobot base. He answered it.

 _{Ratchet, is something wrong?}_

" _I'm not sure,"_ came the slightly tinny reply, _"I just picked up a strange energon reading. You and Smokescreen are the closest to it. The others are on their way, but I fear the Decepticons have also picked it up on their sensors. Whatever it is, we don't want it falling into their hands."_

 _{Acknowledged,}_ Bumblebee said, increasing his speed as he received the coordinates Ratchet sent him, _{We'll get there first and do what we can to protect it. You have no idea what it might be?}_

" _None,"_ Ratchet replied, _"And that is what worries me the most. Be careful, Bumblebee."_

 _{Always,}_ Bumblebee terminated the transmission and increased his speed again.

Smokescreen matched him easily, but somewhat warily, still mindful of the unexpected danger of oil slicks on the road. Seeing Smokescreen could keep pace, Bumblebee further accelerated, pushing for the maximum safe speed given the road conditions. He did not want the Decepticons to beat them to whatever it was Ratchet's sensors had detected.

The sound of tires over wet pavement was almost like music and, though Bumblebee liked the sound and feel of such speed, he did not allow it to distract him. Smokescreen, on the other hand, was quickly becoming absorbed in the freedom of speed and risk stirred into an exhilarating combination, a thrill which could only be fully experienced by those who were built to do just this.

It was the closest any ground restricted Cybertronian could ever get to flying. Sometimes it felt like, if he just increased speed a little more, Bumblebee really would take off and leave the ground behind. He knew Smokescreen was caught in that feeling when the rookie began to outpace him.

 _{Stay with me, Smokescreen. We need to stick together.}_

Smokescreen didn't grumble as he obeyed, but Bumblebee could almost taste the resistance, feel the physical want to go faster, to never slow down. He knew it was alive in Smokescreen because he felt the same urge in himself, pushing him to drive faster. It wasn't just the threat of Decepticons or the need to reach the origin of the strange reading first. It was simply this: a desire to go faster, for no reason other than because he could. It was an impulse he had to fight down every time he drove fast.

Though it didn't seem like it should be, the exertion of self control was satisfying in its own way.

 _{Be sure to check your speed as we leave the road. You don't want to flip or spin out.}_

"Thanks, but I _do_ know how to drive," Smokescreen said.

Bumblebee noted, however, that Smokescreen skidded slightly when they hit the mud. He quickly compensated for his error, and Bumblebee chose not to call him on it. Experience was often the best teacher, if you let it do its work unmolested. Mud was a new terrain to Smokescreen, and they'd all had to learn how to cope with it. Bumblebee remembered one of his own early experiences, where he had found himself sliding helplessly across the mud, unable to transform and stop that way because he was in view of humans. He'd had to right himself in vehicle mode, and had been thoroughly embarrassed because -not only had Arcee and Bulkhead been witnesses- Optimus Prime had seen his mistake. It had been a mortifying experience, but a valuable lesson as well.

They rounded a natural wall of steep rock, and Bumblebee almost hit the brakes too hard and slipped sideways just a little. He transformed before approaching the sight before him. He could feel the power from it, and it made him deeply uneasy. Smokescreen evidently felt it too, and was rendered cautious in his approach for once. Neither of them spoke.

A huge object, half again as large as both Bumblebee and Smokescreen put together, was jammed into the ground. It was roughly cylindrical in shape, but had what appeared to be stabilizing fins that knifed out from the sides of it. From it came a slowly pulsing light, purplish in hue. Bumblebee had developed an intense distrust of anything which was purple, especially if it was glowing. More than the color, however, Bumblebee was made uneasy by the continuous, low thrumming issuing from its core, a sound of immense power being generated within.

Slowly, uneasily, Bumblebee walked a circle around the object, looking for markings that might tell him more about it. It was clearly of Cybertronian design, and there was a certain threatening aspect to its appearance that made his instincts all scream it was of Decepticon origin, but that didn't tell him much, and he knew better than to be certain of what was -at best- an educated guess.

"What _is_ it?" Smokescreen asked after a long moment's silent study.

 _{I don't know,}_ Bumblebee admitted without hesitation.

He continued to stare at it, caught between fear and fascination, wondering about its possible function. It didn't seem to have any buttons or levers or markings offering instruction as to its use. There was probably a touch panel somewhere, that would open a panel to reveal a control system, but he hadn't found it by the time Smokescreen called out an alert.

"Decepticons!"

Bumblebee snapped instantly from his examination and whirled towards Smokescreen, then the direction he was pointing. Decepticons, indeed. It was Soundwave, and Knockout was driving along beneath and behind him. They each had about a half dozen vehicons in tow.

The vehicon jets swept to either side of Soundwave and then sped on ahead of him, flowing back together as a unit. They opened fire before they'd even entered range. Smokescreen was a beat behind them, but Bumblebee waited until he was sure he could at least hit them. After all, it wasn't as if a few warning shots was going to get rid of them. But he had no time to play mentor to Smokescreen just now. Besides which, he knew that Smokescreen was a more than capable fighter.

The two Autobots each rolled for cover, choosing opposite directions in the hopes of splitting the vehicon forces. The ploy worked, three went for Bee and three followed Smokescreen. The air became alive with the sound of blaster fire, the light of which reflected blindingly off each and every drop of rain. Bumblebee lost track of Smokescreen momentarily, absorbed in his own problems.

He realized that Soundwave had reached the device. Rather than open a touch panel, Soundwave simply plugged into it. The power levels increased in response to him, the light growing brighter and the sound louder, the pulsing became instantly faster.

Bumblebee ducked and dodged his assailants, and took a shot at Soundwave, who didn't appear to take any notice of him for a moment. When Bumblebee's second shot hit closer, the Decepticon roused himself, withdrawing the tentacle which had plugged into the machine. Almost casually, he flipped that appendage and used it to knock Bumblebee sideways.

"Bee!" Smokescreen's voice yelled out.

"Don't shoot the panels!" the warning came from Knockout, sounding genuinely alarmed.

Soundwave turned just slightly. That movement was enough for Smokescreen to miss him entirely... and hit the control panel. Smokescreen let out a yelp of alarm as the panels sparked and then exploded, and the light from the core went into an absolute frenzy of pulsation.

Both Autobots and Decepticons turned in horror, sensing the power buildup. It was going to explode.

 _{Take cover!}_ Bumblebee yelled to no one in particular.

For him and Soundwave, there was no cover in range. They both just hit the mud. Smokescreen and Knockout both dropped as well, but their scraps of cover were meager.

In a deafening cacophony of noise, the object pulsed more brightly, and the energy output was no longer confined to the core. A blinding light expanded in a sphere from it, blanketed everything. To Bumblebee, it felt as if the universe suddenly lurched and held, like a sharply indrawn breath, and then released. The power flooded over him, and then, suddenly, everything was dark, silent, and still.

He didn't hear the report so much as feel it.

 _System overload, drive crash imminent, power reserves fluctuating... conscious program... failing._


	2. Chapter 2

_System rebooted. Power stabilizing. Circuit check... internal drive function restored._

Bumblebee didn't hear the report, but he felt his systems registering one by one as his consciousness rebooted itself and he regained normal function. He felt weakness, disorientation, but that was typical of a system reboot. He put a priority on optics, and was soon able to look around.

Within seconds, he was getting groggily to his feet, looking for Smokescreen and wondering why he hadn't been destroyed in that blast. The weakness began to fade as he straightened up, and he realized belatedly that, if he hadn't been destroyed, the Decepticons were probably still here too.

Soundwave was also getting to his feet, but he seemed in no condition to continue the battle. From the looks of him, he was feeling just like Bumblebee was. Bumblebee wasn't exactly feeling profoundly ill, but he was experiencing a disinclination to pursue battle just now.

"Ugh," Knockout was the first to speak, trying in vain to wipe the mud off his body with his hands, "I hate being muddy."

Bumblebee looked at Knockout, and then his gaze sort of drifted to himself, and he noticed the mud covering his own outer shell. He didn't especially like it. He began to slowly try to wipe it off, then remembered he was looking for Smokescreen. He looked around again, somewhat vaguely.

The vehicons were getting up now, but they seemed listless. They looked at each other, then looked around, then looked at the Autobots, then Soundwave, then each other again. They seemed to be lost, like they didn't know what they should do next. Neither Soundwave nor Knockout supplied an answer.

Bumblebee spotted Smokescreen at last, kneeling on the ground still and shaking his head in the hopes of clearing it, like he thought something might have rattled loose and needed to be knocked back into place. He stopped after a moment, and looked around. He saw Bumblebee and their eyes met.

 _He looks just as lost as the vehicons,_ Bumblebee thought.

"I'm okay... I think," Smokescreen said uncertainly, slowly getting to his feet, "What happened?"

"You shot the panels," Knockout exclaimed suddenly, and went towards the device at a stumbling run.

When he got there, he shoved Soundwave aside and began to frantically fuss with the controls.

"Not on purpose!" Smokescreen protested.

 _{What happened?}_ Bumblebee repeated Smokescreen's question, somehow certain Knockout knew something more than he was saying.

"I don't know," Knockout answered, "This is a very old..." he shook his head, "No, you... you two need to go away. This belongs to the Decepticons."

As though the words had somehow snapped him back to a reality he had vacated since the pulse, Soundwave abruptly turned his weapons on Bumblebee. The vehicons also turned on the Autobots, but they were slow and they seemed to lack energy about it, like they were doing it only because it was expected, rather than because they had any reason to.

Inwardly, Bumblebee berated himself for not bringing his own weapons to bear. Soundwave had him point blank, he'd be dead before he could even begin the shift that would allow him to access his blasters. He felt like an idiot. It looked like Smokescreen felt the same way, but he also cast a somewhat accusing look at Bumblebee. Bee felt he deserved as much. He was the more experienced of them, he should have reacted more quickly, and better. He'd made a mistake, and now they might pay for it with their very lives. Not a very agreeable prospect.

"Oh come on," Knockout sounded irritated, "You don't _all_ need to point weapons. Some of you get over here, help me prepare this for transportation."

"You're not taking that anywhere," Smokescreen said, but his voice lacked conviction.

 _{And just what do you expect to do to stop him?}_ Bumblebee felt shock even as he spoke, appalled by the uselessness of his own words, and the open irritation carried on them.

He usually suppressed such remarks before he spoke them, knowing they were completely counterproductive. But, for some reason, he just couldn't summon the internal resources necessary to keep the negativity to himself, or even to convince himself before he spoke that they'd do more harm than good. He felt a thin thread of concern vibrating inside, and instant regret.

But Smokescreen's response was equally inappropriate.

"Hey, at least I'm acting like an Autobot!" he snapped in an uncharacteristic flare of anger, "You're just being an overgrown, motion sensing brick!"

Annoyance flared through Bumblebee, but it encountered restraint via something very unexpected. Regret. Guilt. Smokescreen was right. Bumblebee knew he'd handled the situation quite badly. He dropped his gaze and looked at the ground, profoundly unhappy with himself more than he was irritated with Smokescreen. The thread of concern strengthened, seeming to coil itself slowly around his insides. Something was _wrong_.

The sound of the Ground Bridge activating should have been a welcome relief, but it only served to make Bumblebee think about having to explain his mistakes to Optimus, or having Smokescreen do it for him. He watched grimly as Optimus, Bulkhead and Arcee came through the portal.

"Oh for goodness sake," Knockout sounded thoroughly irritated with the whole matter, "Just take your Autobots and go away."

Looking at the dozen vehicons who had their weapons trained on two of their party, Optimus hesitated a moment. With the numbers, he would normally be equal to fighting. But with two of his people already being held point blank, with their deaths assured if he engaged the enemy, he decided to agree to Knockout's unexpected proposal.

"Very well," Optimus said, "But this is far from over."

Unhappily, Bumblebee and Smokescreen moved around the vehicons, who tracked their progress, and backed their way up to the other Autobots. The lot of them then backed through the bridge and returned home. The weight of his failure was almost crushing, but Bumblebee turned to Optimus anyway.

 _{I'm sorry, Optimus. They took us by surprise. It was my mistake that gave them the upper hand.}_

"Surely that's not all there is to it," Arcee said, crossing her arms and looking doubtful.

"Oh it's not," Smokescreen volunteered, sounding even angrier than he had before, "He completely failed to oppose them when they took us prisoner, just stood there gawking at them."

Bumblebee had had just about enough and snarled, _{Like you did any better!}_

"At least _I_ took a shot! A shot, I might add, that saved your life!"

 _{Idiot! You could have gotten us all killed! Did you miss the part where we experienced a full system crash?!}_ Bumblebee knew he was beginning to shout, but he couldn't seem to help it.

He was angry with Smokescreen for being angry, and for telling Optimus about his incompetence. But he was even more angry because Smokescreen was absolutely right, which only served to further increase the already debilitating guilt that was rising up from previously unrecognized depths.

"Oh yeah!?" Smokescreen rose instantly to the fight, "Well who was it who noticed the Decepticons in the first place, while you were busy admiring a hunk of oversized scrap!? Huh?"

 _{Like you weren't just as fascinated,}_ Bumblebee snapped, disbelieving the vehemence of his own words, feeling somehow detached from the whole argument, like he was just a spectator.

He felt a creeping sense of embarrassment as the rest of Team Prime stood staring at him and Smokescreen, evidently so astonished by the behavior that they couldn't even react to it. But somehow he just couldn't seem to stop talking, even though by now he desperately wanted to.

"Bring it, bug!" Smokescreen was really shouting now, and lunged for Bumblebee, who met him almost unwillingly.

The sound of them smashing into each other seemed to snap the others out of their daze.

"Bumblebee!" Optimus roared, "Smokescreen! Cease and desist!"

The tone of rebuke sent a shiver of pain through Bumblebee and he instantly disengaged. He moved away from Smokescreen as though he'd been stung, and dimly observed Smoke doing the same. They eyed each other for a moment, then looked away, both utterly ashamed of themselves, and also deeply confused by their own behaviors and feelings.

"What is the matter with you two?" Optimus demanded, his voice resuming its usual quiet booming levels, but laced with deep disappointment, which made Bumblebee feel all the worse, "What happened?"

 _Explain,_ a part of Bumblebee urged him, while another part said, _What's the point?_

He shook his head miserably, and avoided looking at Optimus. Deciding Bee wasn't going to step up, Smokescreen decided to report instead. Surprisingly, his remarks about Bumblebee's incompetence were kept to a minimum, he seemed to start to say something, then cringe as though hit by lightning, and then resume a regular, sensible report.

He detailed their arrival, the way they had observed the object and failed to identify it in any capacity before the Decepticons arrived. He told how they had fought, and then hesitated, seeming to be crushed under the same guilt that was weighing on Bumblebee. His voice shook a little as he admitted to accidentally shooting the panels and setting off the device. By the time he finished, he sounded every bit as miserable as Bumblebee felt.

"It seems there is plenty of blame to go around," Ratchet remarked.

"But that does not excuse your behavior," Optimus pointed out to them, "Or explain it. Ratchet, I want you to do a full physical on both of them. Make sure they are as unharmed as they appear."

While Optimus was speaking, Bumblebee felt his attention being drawn back to the mud that was still -irritatingly and embarrassingly- all over him. He tried to wipe it off, soon becoming absorbed in the task. It was only when he heard his own name and looked up to see Ratchet waiting impatiently for him that he remembered where he was, and what he'd done.

Miserably, he walked over to where Ratchet was waiting, and submitted to examination.

* * *

"I can't stand this mud!" Knockout wailed, actively clawing at it, "It won't come off! Soundwave, why won't you help me get it off!?"

Soundwave merely stared at him. In response to the desperate plea, some of the vehicons moved to help Knockout, but they weren't very energetic about it, and he rapidly became annoyed with him and shoved them away.

"Oh get off, you're not helping! Why don't you go away and rust somewhere!"

His comm unit chirped and he answered almost angrily, then felt a wave of utter fear as the identity of the person on the other end of the line became clear to him. Megatron. The very name sent him into a shuddering fit and he stood silently while Megatron spoke.

" _Knockout, where are you? You were supposed locate and retrieve the device immediately!"_

"Yes, yes," Knockout nodded, abhorring the sound of wheedling in his voice, "We ran into some Autobots and a bit of a mishap. But we're almost ready for transport now. Er... what is it anyway?"

" _Just bring it! I want it safely out of Autobot hands. Sooner, rather than later. Understood?"_

"Uh... yes," Knockout replied, "Knockout... out," he growled in annoyance.

That display of fear was absurd. Where had his pride gone? The mere thought of groveling like Starscream always had made him angry enough to override his fear. Besides, what did Megatron expect of him? It was completely unfair to expect him to do this. Here he was, covered in mud, working to get the job done, and Megatron was demanding status reports. It wasn't fair!

The squealing sound of metal being crushed made him lurch around. He found Soundwave slowly and deliberately crushing the neck of one of the vehicons. It was a quiet act of rage, but a terrifying display nonetheless. Soundwave wasn't one for casual displays of cruelty or power.

Soundwave lifted the twitching vehicon above his head, sheer anger radiating from his core. Then, effortlessly, he tossed the now deceased vehicon aside. His hand closed into a fist, and it seemed his anger was not spent. But, a moment later, he opened it and seemed to diminish his presence, as though letting out a sigh of resignation. He turned towards Knockout, pointed to the device.

"Yes, I know. Get it moving," Knockout said, his own anger overriding the fear of Soundwave's display, "I heard Lord Megatron. I'm not _deaf_ , you know."

He didn't feel he had done anything wrong; if anyone had made a mistake it was Soundwave (not that he would ever dare suggest such a thing, especially as Soundwave seemed to be in a terrible mood). He felt no guilt or shame of any of his conduct today. But a quiet, slow spreading fear was growing up in him, and a prickle of unease established itself when he realized he couldn't explain _why_.

Plus, he was still deeply annoyed that he had been unable to get the mud off his chassis.

* * *

"I've _never_ seen Bee act like that," Bulkhead said, "Have you?"

"No," Arcee answered, "I couldn't figure out if he was scared or angry."

"He was sure somethin'," Bulkhead said, shaking his head.

"It was almost like even he was surprised by the things he was saying. I thought for a minute he and Smokescreen were going to kill each other."

"And what about Smoke?" Bulkhead pointed out, "He's not exactly the temperamental type."

"Maybe he's just concealed it well," Arcee suggested, "Maybe all that cheerful exuberance is just a facade, trying to fit in better."

"I don't buy it," Bulkhead said, after thinking a moment, "Nobody could fake that much enthusiasm. Besides, you and I both know Autobots ain't exactly the deceptive type. We are who we are."

"Then what was it we just saw?" Arcee asked.

Bulkhead didn't answer, because he truly had no clue.


	3. Chapter 3

Smokescreen was baffled by his own actions. He was fast getting used to the sting of making mistakes, but his confidence generally remained unshaken. Smokescreen was used to feeling very good about himself, despite the mistakes he made. He was accustomed to being satisfied about who and what he was, and usually could acquire a kind of passive acceptance of a mission gone wrong.

Certainly he was in no position to behave towards Bumblebee as he had. He himself had been on Earth only a very short time, yet already he had lost count of the errors he'd made, nearly all of them far more severe than whatever Bumblebee might have done.

But he still felt angry, cheated even, as if victory had been stolen from him. He also felt the sting of his own mistake, but hadn't yet come to terms with it. His usual methods of reassuring himself internally weren't working, and he felt his mind spinning in helpless circles, trying to figure out exactly where he'd gone wrong, what choices he could have made, what he could have done differently. It upset him more and more that, no matter which way he turned it, he still had to make that shot.

The rules laid down by Optimus were explicit, and binding. He could not have allowed Bumblebee to be destroyed. He _had_ to fire. Besides, how was he supposed to know it might be dangerous? He felt frustration rising up to match the anger and helpless self recrimination. He hadn't had any choice, yet he'd still somehow made the wrong one.

"It isn't fair!" he shouted abruptly, slamming his fist against the nearest wall.

The wall shuddered at the impact, but withstood the abuse. Smokescreen stood still, staring at his fist against the wall, trying to recapture his usual feelings of euphoria about finally getting to see combat, of serving under the legendary Optimus Prime. Remembering the facts of his new situation usually made him extremely excited and a little nervous, but just now he could only feel the latter. Without the excitement to balance it, that nervousness began to grow.

Quickly, he turned away from the wall, seeking an escape from the thoughts that began to accompany the feeling. What if he failed? What if he wound up dead? What if he disappointed Optimus Prime? Had he already done that? The Prime was so enigmatic, it was sometimes hard to tell.

He recognized the feeling of panic that the nervousness was turning into, and looking around wildly for some sort of escape, trying to calm himself. He was used to being nervous, but not _only_ that. Nervous usually came with anticipation, both pleasant and unpleasant. It came with excitement. It came with the thrill of potential success. Alone, it was all consuming, and he didn't know how to cope.

Ratchet finished his examination of Bumblebee at exactly the wrong time. Catching sight of the Scout, Smokescreen felt the inner turmoil coalesce into something easier to take. Anger. _Rage_.

"This is your fault!" he shouted, and -for the second time in one day- he went for Bumblebee with intent to harm.

Smokescreen was trained as an Elite Guard, and that made him formidable in a fight, despite his inexperience. But the Scout was ready for him, and Bumblebee had learned to do battle the hard way, against opponents who would kill him given the slightest opportunity to do so.

He dodged Smokescreen's charge, catching him by the right arm at the wrist and elbow. Bumblebee then twisted that arm behind Smokescreen until he felt sure it would break, at the same time drawing close and kicking him in the back of the right knee, forcing him down. Bumblebee continued to pressure Smokescreen's arm, making the metal groan from unwonted strain, forcing Smokescreen to kneel. An angry burring issued from Bumblebee, but it was so emotionally charged that actual speech couldn't form out of it.

"Bumblebee, stop it!" Ratchet exclaimed, "You'll break his arm off!"

The others had dispersed after Optimus had halted the fighting earlier, but now they came on the run at Ratchet's shouting. Bumblebee did not acknowledge them. Looking over his shoulder, Smokescreen saw that the Scout's eyes had turned almost entirely black.

Angrily, Smokescreen tried to throw Bumblebee off him, but that only made the pressure on his arm all the more painful. Eventually, he had no choice but to cry out from the pain the Scout exerted on him. Bumblebee merely issued a buzzing growl in response.

"Bee, stop it!" Arcee's voice came from seemingly nowhere, as Smokescreen's vision began to crack as his overloaded circuits tried to find a way to compensate from the unbearable strain being put on them.

 _{_ He _started this,}_ Bumblebee snarled.

"And I'm telling _you_ to stop it!" Arcee's body brushed against Smokescreen as she maneuvered herself between them, grabbing onto Bumblebee's shoulders, "Stop, Bee. Stop it right now!"

Bumblebee did not seem to hear here for an agonizing moment. Then a shudder ran through him, which Smokescreen felt through his painfully twisted arm. He jerked, and released Smokescreen, stumbling back as though dizzy. He buzzed something, but it wasn't articulate.

Smokescreen, gasping, brought his right arm forward, holding it against his chest with his left. He tried to assess the damage done, but he couldn't seem to escape the fear that had shot through him at the thought that he was about to have his arm ripped off. He should have been relieved that he was free now, but he wasn't. He felt only the continued, choking fear.

"Bee, calm down," Arcee was saying.

Smokescreen looked up to see that Bumblebee had turned away, was pacing like a caged animal, burring inarticulately in his agitation. When he became too upset or excited, Bumblebee's speech could fragment or fall apart entirely, as was happening now. Arcee was trying to calm him enough so that she could understand him, and find out what had set them off this time.

 _Something is wrong with me_ , Smokescreen thought, looking back at his arm as Bumblebee regained his limited powers of speech.

 _{He went after me, Arcee! He started it. I just tried to finish it!}_ he sounded angry, as angry as Smokescreen himself had been before the fear enveloped him.

"What were you thinking?" Bulkhead, towering over Smokescreen, demanded.

"I... I..." Smokescreen looked from Bulkhead to where Arcee was still trying to coax Bumblebee into a state of calm, "wasn't," he swallowed hard.

"Well here's hoping you don't check out healthy," Bulkhead rumbled, "Because, otherwise, I'm going to have to start doubting you're really an asset to Team Prime."

 _Please no! Anything but that!_ But he seemed to have lost his voice and couldn't say it aloud.

"Come with me, Smokescreen," Ratchet said in a stern voice, "Let's get you checked out."

Trembling slightly, Smokescreen got to his feet and meekly followed the Autobot medic.

* * *

Megatron was intensely annoyed at having to go all the way to the storage area where the device had been delivered in order to receive a report. Neither Knockout nor Soundwave had seen fit to report in when they arrived, and the vehicons certainly hadn't done it!

He stepped through the doorway entering into the storage bay, and stood still in mild astonishment.

Sitting on a vehicon to pin it, Soundwave was slowly and deliberately plucking out the wires and circuits of its left hand. A pained noise was escaping the vehicon, and Megatron remembered the olden days, when Soundwave had taken Autobots apart piece by piece in this almost surgical manner as a means of torturing them for information.

It puzzled him that Soundwave was doing that now, or doing it to a vehicon, but he couldn't really be bothered to care. Instead, he hurried on to where Knockout should have been working.

Instead, he found the Decepticon medic sitting on the floor, absently buffing his finish.

"Have you been doing this since you returned?!" Megatron demanded furiously.

Knockout was bound to clean himself up before doing any real work, but he should have at least gotten some scans running by now. If this device was what Megatron suspected, they needed to learn all they could about it before using it against the Autobots. Surely by now Knockout should have finished polishing and at least begun to work. Knockout might be vain, but that was carefully balanced with a desire to survive, and a delightful cruel streak that made him such an excellent Decepticon medic.

"I thought it would make me feel better," Knockout said listlessly, halting his efforts and looking up at Megatron, "I thought it would make me happy. But," he sighed and set it aside, "it didn't."

Megatron just stared at him, incredulous. Knockout's impudence and vanity were simply facts of working with him, but this was ridiculous. The Decepticon medic looked past Megatron to where Soundwave had moved up from the vehicon's hand to its wrist, a wistful look in his red eyes.

"I should enjoy that," Knockout said, sighing tragically, "But I don't."

"What is the matter with you!?" Megatron thundered, "You should be working on learning more about that device! Not sitting here... moping!"

Tilting his head to the side as he looked up at Megatron, Knockout squinted slightly and asked, "Do you think _that_ will give me pleasure? Because I don't," he sighed one more time.

"Have you lost your mind!?" Megatron swung towards Soundwave, "Soundwave! Leave that vehicon alone and report!"

Soundwave, plucking a wire from his victim, paused and looked up at Megatron in silent contemplation. His facial screen light up with a captured image. Or it should have been. But all it looked like was a pure white screen.

As though this fully explained everything, Soundwave turned back to the vehicon and resumed his focused -yet seemingly disinterested- plucking out of circuitry. The vehicon resumed its plaintive wailing, but Megatron decided to go on ignoring it just as he had up to now.

Moaning in a deeply self-pitying manner, Knockout heaved himself to his feet, moving as though his weight had doubled since the last time he'd stood up. Wearily, he trudged over to the device and poked a piece of scanning equipment at it.

Megatron was used to Knockout taking his time. He was lazy, but he was also very thorough and precise in his work. But he seemed about as enthusiastic about scanning as Soundwave was about tearing apart what Megatron was beginning to suspect was a perfectly innocent subordinate.

"By the Pit! What happened down there!?" Megatron demanded, "What happened to you two!?"

* * *

Bumblebee fought with his anger. He tried telling himself it was irrational, the way he was acting. It didn't help. He then tried informing himself that Smokescreen was his ally, and he shouldn't damage an ally, no matter how annoying. Nothing. He then sought a final means of restraining himself. Optimus would be most displeased. He felt nothing at that thought, and the fact that he felt nothing terrified him.

He didn't understand what was wrong with him, but something most assuredly was.

Then a sense of shame at his indifference began to blanket the fear. He was ashamed of himself for letting his anger get out of control, for not behaving in a manner becoming an Autobot, and for not having enough respect for his own leader to abide by his wishes.

 _{Leave me alone, Arcee,}_ he begged, _{Please, just... just go away.}_

He turned away from her, to face the wall Smokescreen had earlier punched.

He was mortified that he'd lost control of his own voice (such as it was). Normally, he would not have made any noise when he knew he hadn't got control of his own voice. He was ashamed enough of his limited vocalization ability without making it worse by buzzing absolute gibberish.

He didn't really want to be alone, but he couldn't bear the thought of his friend continuing to see him like this. She shouldn't have to put up with this behavior. It wasn't fair. He tried to reach for the logic leading him to that conclusion, but it eluded him. Something was missing, something important. He was missing something. But he couldn't seem to grasp what, exactly, it was.

"Alright, Bee," Arcee sighed, hesitated, then left without saying anything.

Bumblebee wanted to feel relief that she was gone.

But all he felt was alone.

* * *

"I don't know, Optimus," Ratchet admitted.

He'd finished examining both Bumblebee and Smokescreen before delivering his report.

"There is a slight irregularity in energy readings, but nothing serious, just what you'd expect post mission, especially a failed one. Energon flow is down a little, power levels dropped a fraction, but nothing -absolutely NOTHING- to explain their aberrant behavior."

Optimus frowned deeply. He didn't like the idea of disciplining either Bumblebee or Smokescreen. The Autobots were so few, the war at such a desperate point, that it hardly seemed fitting to take any of them out of action for disciplinary reasons. Besides, Optimus had always felt Smokescreen's spark was in the right place, and he had come to trust Bumblebee deeply over time. He believed it was out of character for Smokescreen to act as he had, and he _knew_ it was out of the norm for Bumblebee.

"Do you suppose it is possible they are responding to the stress of the situation?" Ratchet asked.

Optimus tried to consider it, though he couldn't bring himself to believe it somehow.

Certainly Bumblebee had known far worse days than this, and he'd seemed fine this morning when he left with Smokescreen. Everything had seemed normal. But, if the device going off had not affected them in some way... then he would have to look at something more improbable.

"I do not believe so," Optimus said, "But it is possible that my fears about our ability to work with Smokescreen instead of against him may have been well founded."

"You think Bumblebee..." Ratchet shook his head, unable to finish the thought, "Bumblebee's been working as hard as any of us at getting Smokescreen acclimated and up to speed."

"It is possible," Optimus said gravely, "that is exactly the problem."


	4. Chapter 4

As there was no hope of taking back the object the Decepticons had confiscated, things returned essentially to normal. Optimus resumed his work looking for the keys, and the other Autobots resumed their usual duties, including -but not limited to- patrol.

Optimus decided to keep Smokescreen in the field, pairing him with Bulkhead or Arcee, but chose to keep Bumblebee at the base. It was unclear if this was meant as a punishment or merely a precaution, ensuring that Bee and Smoke spent little to no time in one another's presence for the time being.

For a short time, Smokescreen continued to be unusually belligerent and aggressive. Completely gone was the eager beaver routine, something none of them had thought they would miss. Gradually, Smokescreen stopped acting out quite so much, but Arcee and Bulkhead were agreed that he was not his usual boisterous self either.

"He's like a completely different bot," Arcee remarked, and Bulkhead agreed.

As for Bumblebee, he seemed to be a bit more subdued than usual, but seemed overall less affected. He was often prone to periods of seriousness and silence, as were most long-term soldiers of this war. For a Cybertronian, Bumblebee was actually quite young, but he had served most of his life as an Autobot in the military, which led to a certain duality to him. He was as capable of being a fierce warrior as a playful goofball, as curious about life as he was devoted to its defense.

That he was quiet after the incident with Smokescreen was hardly remarkable, especially as it was clearly his perception that Optimus was upset with him, and punishing him by keeping him at the base except when visiting Raf. Optimus did not deny him this, knowing that to do so would be to hurt the boy as well, and the human was innocent in this. Besides which, if the problem was stress or personality conflict, what Bumblebee needed most was a friend and time away from the face of war.

What was noticeable however, was that Smokescreen also went quiet. Seeming to have exhausted the potential of being angry with everything, Smokescreen became abruptly withdrawn. He responded when spoken to, but offered nothing up for himself. Even Ratchet couldn't fail to notice the new shift.

"I think I liked him better angry," Ratchet remarked to Optimus on one occasion, "At least then I could tell what he was thinking."

"Whatever is troubling him, Ratchet," Optimus replied, "We must allow him to resolve it within himself, so long as it does not interfere with our operations."

Ratchet merely nodded in agreement. He was old enough to know that, if an Autobot was deeply troubled, it was up to them to figure it out for themselves. All the others could do was offer their support in any way they could. Still, he couldn't imagine what was causing the radical behavior shifts in Smokescreen.

The rest of them, having seen friends die, endured torture and observed the very death of their world, had plenty of cause to have mood swings in unexpected directions. Smokescreen didn't have enough negative experiences to fill a fluid cap. But that might just be his problem.

Because he was so young, every battle was a big deal to him. The most recent conflict with the Decepticons was an unmitigated failure, and Smokescreen had very nearly been killed, in addition to the unknown device which Bumblebee had said looked Decepticon in origin falling into the hands of Megatron. Of course, the battle prior to that hadn't exactly been a win either. They had retrieved the key alright, but the Star Saber... not to mention another near-death experience for Smokescreen. Maybe he was finally plugging into reality and being alarmed by what he saw.

So far, despite bravado and cleverness in more or less equal measure, Smokescreen had been breathtaking in his recklessness, surviving at times almost purely by luck. And luck, Ratchet knew, was a treacherous ally. Perhaps Smokescreen was beginning to realize that and it scared him.

Of course, both Ratchet and Optimus were busy trying to resurrect Cybertron (or at least prevent the Decepticons from doing it), and had no time to spare on botsitting. Smokescreen was a trained soldier -an Elite Guard, no less-, he could take care of himself. Or should be able to, anyway.

At least, that was the hope.

* * *

Aboard the _Nemesis_ , Megatron was unwilling to be so quiescent as Optimus.

Soundwave had, for eons, been Megatron's steadiest supporter. He was utterly reliable, without any evidence of the self-ambition of Starscream (or the cowardice). Though pride was definitely within his capacity, Soundwave was not one to deny his own mistakes, or to blame someone else. Nor was he apt to take foolish revenge on someone, or to pursue his own interests when assigned to a task. He was as solid a soldier as any military leader could ask for. Impassive, impervious, and utterly devoted to his master. Soundwave was supposed to be incorruptible, and Megatron had always been able to rely on his tactically oriented communications expert to do whatever needed to be done to ensure victory for the Decepticons, and Megatron in particular.

Not once in his long service had the term "erratic" ever applied to Soundwave. Until now.

Suddenly, Soundwave was dismantling vehicons as a pastime, flying off without apparent reason, and failing to monitor Earth communications. The loss of vehicons wasn't especially concerning to Megatron, except that it implied a certain mental instability in Soundwave where there had been none before.

And it wasn't just Soundwave, either.

Knockout, who should have been hard at work discovering every facet of the newly retrieved object's operation, was instead doing nothing, and doing it very slowly. Whenever anyone came to see what he was doing, Knockout was standing around like he'd forgotten what it was he'd been told to do.

Knockout was reliable in his laziness, but also in his intense self interest. Because he not only feared Megatron's wrath, but had faith in the Decepticon leader's ability to fulfill his promises, Knockout was generally obedient. He could be completely relied on in medical matters... so long as it was more to his benefit than being unreliable. He was as vain as he was callous, and as ego-maniacal as the average Decepticon. Because he placed such high value on his own safety, comfort and appearance, Knockout was somewhat of a coward, but he was not a sniveling one, and it was beneath his pride to grovel. Regardless of who was holding his leash, Knockout was always more arrogant than respectful, comfortable in the fact that he was necessary to the Decepticon army, knowing that -though he had little chance of advancement- his own life was secured aboard the _Nemesis_. No one was liable to try and end his existence, because his talents were absolutely irreplaceable, just as Soundwave's were.

But now he was reliable in nothing. Every time he was pestered, Knockout seemed to be having an emotional fit, which was not the usual state of affairs for him. Even in expressing profound fear, Knockout tended to be quite composed and self-contained. Not now. Now he was all over the map, emotionally speaking, and completely without restraint about it.

"Where is Soundwave!?" Megatron demanded of a vehicon, who merely shook his head helplessly.

Growling in annoyance, Megatron bulled past the vehicon and stepped out onto the flight deck of the _Nemesis_. Scowling at the assorted vehicons he found there, the Decepticon leader was even more irritated to see that Soundwave was not up here either. He'd looked just about everywhere now, and tried calling on the comms. Soundwave was nowhere to be found. Again.

As he was standing, debating what to do to him when Soundwave eventually returned, Megatron watched one of the vehicons step to the edge of the flight deck, look down somewhat tentatively, and then slowly and deliberately step off the edge.

Megatron rushed to the edge and looked down, observing dispassionately as the vehicon fell to its demise. It was not a vehicon capable of flight, and there was nothing between here and the ground -very far away just now- to land on. It would shatter like glass on impact.

It was not unusual to order (or hurl) vehicons to their deaths, but they generally didn't just go around offing themselves. The loss of the vehicon was not upsetting in itself, but Megatron felt a sudden suspicion. Turning to the nearest vehicon, he grabbed it.

"Was that one of the vehicons who accompanied Soundwave and Knockout on their most recent mission?!"

"Yes," the vehicon answered meekly.

"Where are the other eleven?"

"I... uh..."

"Answer me!"

"Yes sir," the vehicon responded, "Lord Megatron... Soundwave... he... well... he took three of them apart... piece by piece."

"And the others? What of them?" Megatron demanded urgently.

"Uh... well... seven of them... well... they..." the vehicon trailed off and peered over the edge of the _Nemesis_ , at the howling emptiness beyond.

Eleven. Eleven of twelve. Gone. And not a shot fired. Not a battle fought.

"By the Pit!" Megatron cursed, tossing aside the useless vehicon, "What is going on around here!?"

He stomped down to where Knockout was supposed to be working. Looking around the room, Megatron at first saw nothing other than the large, menacing object in the center of the room, and the variety of research equipment plugged into it. A handful of nervous looking vehicons were at work, but Knockout was not at any station. Then Megatron saw him.

"Knockout! What are you doing on the floor?" Megatron demanded angrily, "You are supposed to be working!"

Knockout, lying face down, spoke into the metal floor, his tone a dismal one, "Standing up suddenly seemed... not worth the effort any more."

"So you decided to lie down on the job?" Megatron asked in disbelief.

"No. Not really," Knockout said, sighing as though the Decepticons had lost the war, "I just... stopped standing up. I fell on my face and... well... here I am," he sighed again, something he seemed to be doing pretty routinely now.

Megatron began to say something else, but then his astonished eyes noticed something. Knockout was... dusty, dirty, unkempt. To see so much as a smudge on Knockout for longer than the moment it took him to notice it was almost as unheard of as Soundwave being erratic. Highly polished, perfectly painted, Knockout never showed the slightest wear outside.

"Knockout," Megatron said slowly, "Do you realize how filthy you are?"

A slow creaking, the groaning of gears not being supplied with enough energy for the task assigned. Knockout turned over so that he was now lying on his back, but he did not get up.

"I was going to wax my finish," he said dismally, as though the end of the entire universe was at hand and he was simply too tired to care, "But then I decided... why bother?"

"And what do you intend to do now?" Megatron asked, trying to sound patient.

"I think I'll lie on my back. See if I can crash my systems with my own energy feedback."

Megatron blinked. Knockout did not sound as if he were joking.

"Why?" Megatron asked.

"Why?" Knockout's eyes widened a fraction, then closed indifferently, "Something to do, I suppose. Seems easier than getting up just now."

Megatron leaned down, grabbed onto Knockout and bodily lifted him from the floor, rotated him and set him on his feet. He did not let the smaller Decepticon go, to prevent him from once again deciding that standing up was 'too much trouble'.

"Knockout, you must answer," Megatron spoke harshly, but with an element of urgency, "What happened when you retrieved this device?" when Knockout remained reticent, he shook the medic, "Did you activate it? Did it get set off? Knockout, answer!"

"I suppose it did," Knockout shrugged, like it really didn't matter, then grimaced as though the action was somehow painful to him, "It seemed as if it mattered at the time. But now... well..."

"Well what?" Megatron pressed, still holding onto Knockout.

"I dunno... seems like maybe nothing matters much now. Can I go now? I'm tired."

Megatron released him, and Knockout promptly fell over backward.

"The device was activated," Megatron whispered aloud, more to himself than anything, "But what did it do?" he leaned down and once again hauled Knockout to his feet.

Knockout behaved for all the world like he'd been deactivated, completely limp, dead weight in Megatron's iron grip. But he did open his eyes, proving consciousness was still in him.

"Knockout, you must continue your research," Megatron urged, "You must discover what this device was designed for. It is an experimental prototype. Do you remember that much at least?"

"I guess," Knockout said, his gaze settling on a blank wall rather than Megatron.

"What was it meant to do? Why was the research abandoned? Knockout!" Megatron shook him again.

"I dunno," Knockout shrugged again, "Does it matter?"

"Yes! Yes, you idiot!" Megatron practically shouted, "You are falling apart, as is Soundwave! Your abilities, and those of Soundwave, are assets that must not be lost. You must pull yourself together."

Knockout stared vacantly. With a growl of frustration, Megatron released him again. Again, he collapsed onto the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Megatron was not especially concerned about Knockout as an individual, but it deeply concerned him what loss of the skills and knowledge might do to his chances of victory.

"Very well," Megatron growled, "I shall do it myself. Perhaps there is a record of this object that Soundwave overlooked," normally, Megatron would not have even entertained the notion.

But, considering Soundwave's aberrant behavior, anything was now possible.

"Okay," Knockout said wearily, "I'll be here on the floor."

Megatron turned his back, ignoring the latest in a long line of disconsolate sighs.


	5. Chapter 5

Rafael could hardly fail to notice the evident distress of his friend. For days now, Bumblebee had been alternately sulking and moping, and failing in the struggle to conceal either condition. Raf wanted more than anything to ask Bee if he was okay, and what was wrong, but he knew doing so would only make the Autobot Scout fight all the harder to pretend everything was fine.

It was called putting on a brave face, so the people who cared about you wouldn't worry, and Raf was all-too familiar with it personally. He also knew how hard it was to do, and how bad it felt when your attempts at faking a smile were pointed out as being utterly transparent. He also knew that a part of you was hoping the fakery would be noticed, and that people would know you weren't fine underneath the smile. He knew that, while you didn't want people to worry, you did want them to show they cared about you, but that want made you feel selfish.

In any case, he felt that he should just continue as though things were normal, as if he hadn't noticed the thick soldier armor breaking down and revealing the vulnerable spark underneath it.

Something Raf had understood almost immediately was that, for all their great strength and durability, Autobots had a sensitive side, and their sparks were as fragile as a human heart, if not more so. Bumblebee, in his silences, spoke volumes. He was somehow deeply hurt, though Raf couldn't tell why, and knew Bee would not volunteer any answers. He wondered if anyone else had noticed. At the base, everything seemed to be going pretty much normally, like they hadn't even noticed one of their number was struggling. But he couldn't tell if their indifference was as fake as Bumblebee's pretension of being "fine".

 _{Oh look,}_ Bumblebee's offhand tone drew Raf from his thoughts, _{Soundwave.}_

"What!?" Raf yelped, leaning forward in his seat and peering out the window.

Sure enough, the black UAV was sweeping down toward them with upsetting speed. Ahead and behind, the empty road stretched as far as the eye could see. There was no sign of anyone. They were utterly alone, with Soundwave hot on their heels. Bumblebee, bizarrely, did not increase his speed. He did not break and turn to face the enemy. In fact, he reacted in no perceptible manner at all.

"Bumblebee!" Raf shouted.

 _{Yes?}_ it sounded as if it took every last ounce of willpower Bumblebee had just to answer.

But he also sounded deathly unaware of their peril. Or perhaps he just didn't care. Well, if he didn't, then Raf would have to do that for him.

"Bumblebee!" Raf yelled, "He's getting closer!"

 _{Yeah,}_ Bumblebee answered vaguely.

"Well _do_ something," Rafe urged, now very much afraid.

He'd never felt afraid with Bee before. He'd always been confident that Bumblebee would protect him. But Soundwave was rushing in, closing the gap between them by the second. Soon he'd be in firing range. And Bumblebee seemed about as interested in the Decepticon swooping towards him as he might have been in a cloud passing overhead.

 _{Okay,}_ he said agreeably, but still without clear investment in it, _{Like what?}_

"Run!" Raf exclaimed the first thing that came to mind, "I mean drive!"

 _{I am driving,}_ Bumblebee pointed out.

"Well drive faster, then! You have to outrun him!"

 _{I'll try,}_ Bumblebee said with evident reluctance, _{But I don't think I can do that.}_

As Bumblebee accelerated, Raf realized he was right. A car couldn't outrun a UAV Reaper. Even the fastest car in the world could only barely match the speed, and Bumblebee certainly wasn't that model. In vehicle mode, Autobots and Decepticons alike were restricted to the limits of their form. Even if Bumblebee could obtained his absolute fastest speed, Soundwave would still be in range in a matter of seconds.

"B-Bumblebee, what-t should we do? He's gonna... catch _us_ ," Raf stumbled over the words.

Bumblebee didn't answer. He also didn't slow down. He continued to accelerate down the straight stretch of road, increasing speed as though he hadn't even heard. He was going so fast now that he was beginning to wobble a little, fighting to stay in control as his tires fairly flew over the asphalt.

"Bumblebee!" Raf shouted.

 _{Yes?}_

"Do something!"

 _{I am, Raf,}_ came the answer, still expressing a disconcerting lack of any interest in survival.

"Call the base," Raf said, "Call Optimus!"

 _{Why?}_

"Just do it before Soundwave blasts us to bits!"

 _{Okay,}_ a slight chirp indicated the activation of his comm unit, _{Bumblebee to Optimus,}_ his voice contained no urgency, as if he didn't even understand the danger of the situation, _{I am being pursued by Soundwave. Raf is with me. Soundwave is closing fast. Raf thought I should let you know.}_

"Bee! You have to wait for a response before you start talking!" Raf said, "Unless you're leaving a message."

 _{Yes, that's right. Is it important?}_

"Never mind! I'll do it."

Just as Raf was ripping his phone out of his pocket, Soundwave evidently decided he was in range and opened fire. The first shot was a flat miss, but not because Bumblebee did anything. Bumblebee failed utterly to even try to dodge, continuing straight on his course, running flat out.

"Bumblebee, he's trying to kill us!" Raf yelled and then, since that seemed to have no effect, he tried a more specific and accusing way of putting it, "He's going to kill _me_!"

He knew the statement would send a jolt of fear through the Autobot. He knew their devotion to humanity ran extremely deep, and anything which threatened that hurt them. He hated to use that as a whip to get Bumblebee in gear, but it seemed the Scout was moved by nothing else. It was like he simply didn't care. But he _did_ care about _that_.

Bumblebee's engine growled and his tires squealed on the asphalt as he jammed on the brakes.

 _{No!}_ he exclaimed, fury suddenly shattering the apathy, _{I won't allow it!}_

When he came to a complete stop, Bumblebee dumped Raf out and transformed. Rage seemed to burn from his core, so powerful it almost seemed to gain substance. With nowhere to go, Raf simply knelt in the road and opened his phone to call for reinforcements.

Normally, he'd have always bet on Bee, even in a face off with the faceless Decepticon himself. But he knew a large part of winning was about attitude. And Bumblebee's confidence seemed to have crumbled away to nothing, as had everything else that made him strong. He simply didn't seem to have enough passion left to win a fight against a chipmunk, much less Soundwave.

Bumblebee engaged his blasters and opened fire on the Decepticon, standing firmly between Soundwave and Raf. Soundwave did not return fire, instead merely dodging Bumblebee's shots as he screamed towards the Autobot at high speed. Too late, Raf realized Soundwave's intention.

The Decepticon Reaper UAV slammed into Bumblebee's chest and drove him backwards with sheer momentum. Bumblebee grabbed onto the stabilizing fins as he was yanked off the ground. Raf ducked low, and the fighting Cybertronians barely missed him as the grounded one forced the flighted one out of the air. Bumblebee slammed down onto his back, dragging Soundwave with him.

Twisting out of the Scout's grip, the Decepticon transformed even as he righted himself. Soundwave had the appearance of being delicate and insubstantial, as though his limbs might snap if the slightest pressure was exerted upon them. But either Soundwave was so deft at blocking and redirecting impact that it didn't matter, or he was much sturdier than he appeared. Either way, he was as dangerous as he was silent. The only Decepticon that might be more dangerous to fight one-on-one was Megatron himself, and even that was an unknown.

Raf put in the call to the Autobot base, hoping Bumblebee could hold his own, just for a little while.

* * *

" _Soundwave's fighting with Bumblebee,"_ Raf's terrified voice said through the communications speaker.

"Is he alone?" Ratchet inquired, feeling puzzled by the report.

" _I... think so. Yes. It's just him."_

"Alright, Rafael. Hold on, I am sending help to your coordinates," he switched to a different frequency, "Bulkhead, Bumblebee is under attack in your patrol area. Smokescreen can undoubtedly reach that location before a Ground Bridge to bring you back and another to send you out."

" _You want me to send Smoke ahead of me? By himself? You think that's a smart move?"_ Bulkhead inquired uneasily.

"The 'newbie' is for backup, isn't he?" Ratchet asked, "Besides, you'll be right behind him. The three of you should be able to drive Soundwave off, but I'll get ahold of Arcee and dispatch her to your location as well, just in case he has friends waiting in the wings."

He cut communication with Bulkhead, scowling at the screen in front of him. Soundwave was attacking Bumblebee, and that was strange enough. He could think of no adequate reason for the Decepticon to engage the Autobot. Not in that location. There was nothing to fight over, no prize to win, so he couldn't imagine why Soundwave would bother. Unlike many other Decepticons, Soundwave was not one to enter into conflict to satisfy a grudge, or to try and prove his mettle. He would not attack Bumblebee without cause.

But what was that cause? And why was Soundwave alone? Soundwave wasn't Megatron's usual choice as an assassin, despite his extreme skill in that capacity. And Soundwave was not too proud to have a fleet of vehicons at his back, even if he didn't really need them.

He shook his head, glancing in Optimus' direction. The Prime did not even look up from his work. He knew Optimus would go if necessary, but the situation hardly seemed dire enough to tear him away from his very important work in searching for the keys, if they were every bit as special as indicated.

Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Smokescreen should be able to handle one Decepticon between them. Even if that Decepticon _was_ Soundwave.

* * *

Smokescreen felt tired. Intellectually, he knew he had no reason to be tired. He was physically fit, according to Ratchet. Since he and Bumblebee had failed to keep the as yet unidentified object out of Decepticon hands, there had been little to do but continue his general education, which mostly meant going on patrol with Bulkhead or Arcee. A couple of times he'd gone with only Jack, but Arcee was wary of letting that happen since what happened that first time. She didn't trust him with humans.

He remembered understanding why, but then it began to frustrate and infuriate him. Now though, he just didn't feel much of anything about it. It was just too taxing to be annoyed about something like that, just like it now felt like too much trouble to try and make Optimus proud of him.  
That had seemed like the most important thing in the world, but then it began to feel like an unobtainable goal, and that disheartened him. Now it just didn't seem like it was worth the effort of thinking about it. Really, thinking about anything felt like too much effort.

Frankly, he was beginning to wish the others would just leave him alone. But when Bulkhead told him they were going on patrol together to help further his Earth education, it seemed like arguing would be too hard, and he'd probably just lose the argument anyway. It just wasn't worth it, so he didn't bother.

He tried remembering what it had been like when he graduated, fully trained and prepared to fight a war, only to be shunted off to the sidelines, to guard a place about as exciting as a dead star. He remembered the disappointment of that posting. He remembered feeling like he could have taken on the whole Decepticon army given the chance... but nobody had given him one. He'd felt disappointed, unappreciated and undervalued. And it had felt like he'd never get his chance, and that nothing worthwhile could possibly happen to him. But it had. He'd actually learned a lot, and had wound up valuing the time spent there, even though it had seemed like a waste.

He remembered then being captured, and the desolate feeling then too. To finally get a chance at combat, then to blackout before even knowing what hit him. Not knowing what had happened after that. Being trapped and held prisoner. Even escaping, not knowing where he would land or what would happen to him. Landing and not knowing if the war was won or lost or still being contested.

Those first few moments of wakefulness, almost certain he was going to die at the hands of the Decepticons. He remembered it all, and tried to remind himself that seemingly wasted time had turned out to be worthwhile, and it was the darkest moments during which the light of hope shone brightest of all. But it didn't do any good. His spark refused to be moved by positive thinking, and no amount of telling himself he's current feelings weren't necessarily permanent made him feel any better. Or even feel as if it were possible to feel any better.

He realized he was unable to derive any positive feeling about those memories either. He remembered them, and remembered how he had felt about them. But nothing stirred in him, there was no fondness to recalling the events. They simply were, devoid of any light or meaning.

"Smokescreen," Bulkhead's voice jarred through his dismal thoughts, "Did you hear Ratchet?"

"Hmm? No. What?" Smokescreen asked almost blearily, not sure he cared.

"Bumblebee is being attacked by Soundwave."

"Oh," the statement failed to make any kind of impact on him, and he wondered if it should concern him that it didn't concern him.

"He needs our help, and you're the fastest."

"Oh."

"Well?" Bulkhead demanded when Smokescreen didn't move, "Go!"

"Huh? Oh. Right."

Smokescreen accelerated sharply, sensing the wind pick up and begin to blow against him. His wheels spun, eating up the ground in front of him, and he saw the landscape flashing past.

But he felt nothing. He wondered if he should care.

He decided it wasn't worth the effort, and sped on.


	6. Chapter 6

Bumblebee crashed to the ground, gracelessly avoiding an attack by Soundwave. The pavement cracked with the impact, the ground itself seemed to shudder. A jagged burst of pain flowered from the spot that had touched down as the shock rippled through his systems and they scrambled to compensate. Shaking his head, Bumblebee staggered back to his feet, the pain subsiding.

He was confused. He knew how Soundwave fought. Every move he made was economical, no energy was wasted. Soundwave was built for efficiency, he wasted neither time nor effort in a fight. But he especially did not drag combat out. A fight with Soundwave was usually over in less than a minute. So why hadn't he followed through just now, when Bumblebee was down?

It wasn't the first finishing blow he'd failed to execute since engaging Bumblebee in this fight. It was... almost like he didn't want to end it. Like he was intentionally dragging it out. But for what purpose? To what end? Bumblebee glared at his silent enemy, keeping a careful distance between them. He knew only too well how far those tentacles could reach if the need arose.

 _What do you want? What are you trying to accomplish?_ Bumblebee knew better than to bother asking.

Soundwave _could_ speak, Bumblebee knew. He didn't understand why someone who still had their voice would choose not to use it. There were times, a lot of them lately, that he thought about what he would do if he had the voice Megatron had silenced. He figured he'd probably never stop talking again.

The thought made him slightly sad, and he felt his resolve to fight begin to falter. He shook his head, trying to focus, but the anger he'd felt was wavering and he wasn't sure he could hold it together.

Soundwave wasn't about to let Bumblebee stop fighting, however. Evidently somehow sensing the fight going out of his opponent, Soundwave turned on what had ignited Bumblebee's anger to begin with, almost as though he knew. A tentacle raised slowly, the tip seeming to look over Soundwave's shoulder at Bumblebee. But it didn't dart towards the Scout, instead it made for the human on the ground.

 _{No!}_ fear swept through Bumblebee and he lunged to deflect the blow.

He wasn't quite careful enough. He managed to block the tentacle from reaching Raf, but instead it latched onto his chest. His eyes widened as he realized his mistake, a second before the electric shock surged through him, overloading every voluntary system in his body. His body spasmed, and he let out an inarticulate wail. He tried to grab onto the tentacle and detach it from himself, but his hand refused to obey his command, swinging uselessly and missing its target entirely.

Soundwave, for his part, stood perfectly still. This seemed to be exactly what he wanted for some reason. Rather than release the disabled Scout or move in for the kill, or even toss him aside, Soundwave increased his power output, until currents of electricity were sparking across the outer shell of the Scout in coruscating patterns of bluish-purple and white, like patches of artificial lightning.

"Yo, ugly!"

Soundwave turned fractionally, just in time to recognize the Autobot flying at him feet first. With impassive precision, he detached from Bumblebee and then stepped to the side. Smokescreen, who had transformed while still fully accelerated, sailed harmlessly past Soundwave. He touched down on the asphalt, skidded, making an awful noise and sending sparks into the air, and then turned to face the opposition, who now stood looking at him, head cocked slightly to the side.

Bumblebee lay where he'd fallen, very likely unconscious, potentially dead.

Smokescreen tried not to look at him, instead focusing on the fight at hand. He seemed to have misplaced the eagerness he usually felt before battle, particularly when facing such a legendary Decepticon as Soundwave. That eagerness to fight, to prove his valor in combat, to himself, the other Autobots and especially to Optimus, usually overrode the slightest nervousness he felt. He didn't really feel the nervousness either though, nor the expected outrage at seeing one of his comrades injured and down. He just felt a kind of weariness at having to fight a 'con right now.

"Would you like to call it a draw?" Smokescreen asked Soundwave, "We could all just go home, pretend none of this ever happened. Doesn't that sound nice?" it sure sounded nice to him.

Soundwave stood a moment longer, tentacles raised slightly above his head on either side. Then he looked past Smokescreen, at the advancing but still distant form of Bulkhead. Suddenly, he seemed to decide he'd either finished the job he came to do, or that he actually agreed with Smokescreen. Withdrawing the tentacles, Soundwave transformed and blasted off.

He was already receding into the distance when Bulkhead arrived.

"Bumblebee!" Raf knelt behind the distressingly still form of the Scout, "Bumblebee, are you okay?"

Bulkhead lumbered towards Bumblebee, but the Scout began to rouse before he'd gotten close. With a burring noise that essentially amounted to "ow", he sat up and rubbed his head. His optics focused, unfocused, focused again, and then he slowly got to his feet.

"You in one piece?" Bulkhead asked of Bumblebee, who answered in the affirmative, then he turned to Smokescreen, "What happened with Soundwave?"

"I dunno," Smokescreen shrugged indifferently, "I suggested he could go away, and then he went away."

"Well that's not suspicious at all," Bulkhead remarked sarcastically, crossing his arms.

Bumblebee buzzed, starting to say something, then he staggered suddenly. Bulkhead caught him by the arm, alarmed to see the light behind the Scout's eyes flicker, as if his consciousness had abruptly attempted to fade. Bulkhead was no medic, but he knew for sure that wasn't a good thing.

"Come on, let's let Ratchet patch you up. Smoke, you take care of Raf."

Though their voices were radically different, both Smokescreen and Bumblebee had the same disheartened sound when they said "Okay", like the one word response took heroic effort to summon up from inside themselves.

"And Smoke, you go straight to Ratchet when he's done with Bee," Bulkhead ordered, "I think he should check you out too."

"Soundwave never touched me, but okay," Smokescreen answered.

* * *

"I examined both of them thoroughly, at Bulkhead's request. Turns out, he was right to be concerned," Ratchet reported to Optimus.

Arcee and Bulkhead were also present, but both the subjects in question had gone off to mope or sulk somewhere, seemingly singularly disinterested in the results of the tests, like they really couldn't care less if they were alright or not. In itself, that was concerning. Bumblebee's MO was to deny that there was anything wrong with him, even if he was literally missing his T-Cog. There was much evidence to suggest that, if Smokescreen ever did get injured, he'd operate much the same way.

"So there _is_ something wrong with them," Arcee said.

"Well..." Ratchet hesitated, "You remember when I last examined them, I remarked on slightly lowered energy levels? It didn't appear to be concerning at the time. I got the same readings today, except they were even lower than before."

"So? The two of them did just have a scrap with Soundwave," Bulkhead pointed out.

"Yes, and Bumblebee's systems are definitely registering the wear from that. You were right about that as well, Bulkhead. The damage done seems to be fairly minor, and self-repairable over time, but it was definitely there, wreaking havoc on his electrical systems. But that's not surprising, considering the nature of the assault. All he needs is time to recover. I'd suggest keeping him out of combat for a few days. If our numbers were greater, I'd insist on it. But, as we are so few and the times so dark, I understand that may not be possible."

"And you do not believe the damage is so severe as to render him a liability in combat?" Optimus asked.

"No. He'll be a little slower on the uptick, maybe a little weaker, but the main reason to keep him out of the fight is to allow his systems to recover unmolested. If they can recover."

"What do you mean," Arcee asked, concerning edging her voice, "'if'?"

"The low power readings are deeply concerning," Ratchet admitted, "Primarily because I am not sure what they mean. But I suspect they could account for the decrease in interest and efficiency which has become increasingly evident in both of them."

"Bee isn't inefficient," Raf had walked onto the catwalk in front of the communications console without any of them noticing him, and now they all turned to look at the small human, "he's depressed."

"He's _what_?" Ratchet asked, eyes widening.

"Don't you know what depressed is?" Raf asked.

"Is that some kind of human thing?" Bulkhead inquired, "Like the... what is it... common cold?"

"No, it's not like that at all," Raf shook his head, "It's like... well," he paused, frowning and chewing his lower lip as he tried to think of how to explain it to a bunch of Cybertronians, "Well, it's sort of like being sad. Except you're not necessarily sad. But you're not happy either."

"I don't get it," Arcee admitted with a shrug.

"What's Bee got to be sad about?" Bulkhead asked, "I mean, besides the obvious."

"No, you're missing the point," Raf shook his head in frustration, "Being depressed isn't being sad. I said it was _like_ being sad. It's... it's like being really tired. Of everything. But it _isn't_ being tired."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, either," Ratchet said, "Being sad is an emotion, but being tired is a physical symptom, usually with a physical cause. The two are unrelated. How can something be both and neither?"

Optimus had had enough, or maybe he was getting an inkling of what Raf was trying to say. Either way, he activated his comm unit, and ordered both Smokescreen and Bumblebee to report immediately.

Both of them came as instructed. Smokescreen bore the same expression one might expect to see on a beaten animal, Bumblebee just looked like he wanted to get whatever this was over with so he could go back to doing... whatever it was he'd been doing. Being by himself, mostly.

"Bumblebee," Optimus addressed the Scout first, "What happened after the Decepticon device was activated?"

Without hesitation, Bumblebee began to repeat the report he'd given, almost word for word.

"No," Optimus interrupted, "What happened to _you_?"

 _{I...}_ he hesitated, looking abruptly frightened, his optics darting from one face to another, evidently finding nothing he wanted and coming to rest on Optimus again, _{I don't understand.}_

"Bumblebee," Raf broke in, before Optimus could continue, "How do you feel? Right now?"

 _{I am fine,}_ Bumblebee replied in his customarily stoic manner.

"I didn't ask you how you were. I asked you how you _felt_ ," Raf told him.

Bumblebee looked from Raf to Optimus.

"Answer the question," Optimus prodded gently.

 _{I... feel...}_ Bumblebee's optics focused and unfocused wildly, almost like he was having a seizure, then finally settled down into a look of defeat as he answered, _{Empty.}_

Smokescreen twitched and looked at Bumblebee, then returned to his stance of quiet attention.

"Explain," Ratchet was on him now, and Bumblebee looked more than ever like he wanted to just completely disappear, and was only barely resisting the urge to run away.

 _{I.. can't,}_ Bumblebee told him.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Arcee demanded, "You just said-" Optimus held up a hand to silence her, and then took over the interrogation.

"Bumblebee, what have you felt since the day in question?"

 _{I'd... rather not say,}_ Bumblebee told him.

"Smokescreen?" Optimus turned to the rookie, who jerked nervously at being addressed.

"I... uh... well..." he finally seemed to find an answer which he could live with, "like something's... missing."

 _{Missing. Yes. Something is missing,}_ Bumblebee concurred quietly.

"What?" Optimus pressed.

"I don't know," Smokescreen seemed to gain traction as he spoke, "It's like... like a part of myself is just... gone. And... I don't know how to get it back," he averted his eyes and added, "Sir."

"Bumblebee," Raf spoke again, his tone an odd mixture of nervousness and sympathy, "Have you felt good about anything, at all, on any level, since you were hit by that pulse?"

Bumblebee looked startled, and his optics turned, a visible indication of thought. He was silent for an increasingly uncomfortable number of seconds. At last, he stopped thinking, and his gaze turned to Raf.

 _{No,}_ he answered flatly, _{Nothing.}_

"And you?" Raf looked at Smokescreen.

Smokescreen didn't have to think for long, because he'd already been considering it while the question had been directed at Bumblebee. Still, he was somewhat slow to respond.

"No," he said finally, "It's like I'm... numb. I go where I'm told, do what I have to, and then I just... stop. It's... it's very hard. And I don't understand why."

 _{Optimus,}_ Bumblebee turned suddenly to the Prime, a tone of pleading in his voice, _{What's happening to us?}_


	7. Chapter 7

"Knockout!" Megatron's strident voice seemed to ring off the very walls of the _Nemesis_ , "You're going to get up and make some sense of this... this nonsense."

Knockout, once again face down on the floor, lifted his head fractionally as though he had intended to look up at his leader's face, but ran out of enthusiasm about six inches above the ankle.

"I am?" he asked, addressing Megatron's shins.

"Get up!" Megatron stormed, grabbing hold of Knockout and yanking him to his feet.

He hauled the medic over to the nearest computer terminal, aiming Knockout at the screen. With his free hand, he punched up the file he had found, which contained an image that was identical to the object sitting on the other side of the bay. The file was titled: NIWE, and below the device was an annotated blueprint, but the annotations did more to confuse the issue than to clarify it.

"It's written in science babble," Megatron informed Knockout, "You are going to translate it into something that makes sense."

Of all the skills Megatron had acquired over time, a basic understanding of Cybertronian science and technology was not one of them. Oh, he knew how to use tools. He knew the capabilities of the _Nemesis_. He understood that the hand of a Prime granted him the power to wield the Forge, though it was doubtful he comprehended the mechanics behind it. The simply fact was, Megatron was brilliant, but at making things work as he willed, often simply because he was convinced his own will was the most powerful force in the universe.

Undoubtedly, over time, he could have figured out the texts devoted to the description and explanation of the object labeled NIWE, but he had far more urgent matters to attend to. Besides which, he already had Knockout on hand, and this gobbledygook was written in language which Knockout was fluent in.

"Explain the purpose and function of this device," Megatron pressed, unwilling to let go of Knockout in case he simply slid back to the floor like the beached jellyfish he seemed to have become, "No, more important: explain how to reverse its effects."

"New-ee," Knockout murmured, "I've seen this before."

"Excellent," Megatron said in satisfaction, "then you know how it works."

"No," Knockout replied, "I just know NIWE stands for Negative Induction Wave Emitter."

"Which means?"

"I don't know," Knockout said.

Megatron wanted to bash the smaller Decepticon's head in. He wanted to kick him across the room. He wanted to throw him off the damned ship! But he restrained himself. Clenching his teeth, he pushed his anger back, letting it seethe inside him while outwardly he adopted a manner of calm.

"Figure it out," Megatron ordered, "Quickly."

"This is very old, from a Decepticon laboratory in Lamdala. Lamdala was bombed, as I recall."

"Yes, yes," Megatron hissed impatiently, "But not before its projects were relocated off world and the records transferred to what eventually became the _Nemesis_ computer banks."

"Ah," Knockout nodded absently, "But what made the NIWE arrive here? And why now?"

"That is not your concern," Megatron reminded him, "Your priority is to discover its function, and how to make it stop whatever it is doing that is turning you and Soundwave into useless piles of scrap."

"Way to make a motivational speech, boss," Knockout said.

It was a flicker of his old insolence, and Megatron would normally have squashed it down. But he was afraid that, if he squashed that momentary ember of life, the medic would simply collapse back onto the floor and refuse to get up again unless he was blasted to atoms. So he let it slide.

"Just work," Megatron reminded him, hesitantly releasing his hold on the medic.

For the first time in days, Knockout actually remained upright under his own power, as his consciousness became absorbed in the lengthy details of information he was assimilating.

Megatron was uncomfortably aware of the fact that, though it had been his own idea to do it, it had not been he himself who attached the severed limb of the fallen Prime to his body. He could not have attached the hand to himself nor made it function. For that, Knockout's expertise was required.

He was also acutely aware of the vulnerability of the _Nemesis_ just now. Soundwave was constantly monitoring Earth communications and operating the scanners. It was he who kept the ship undetected, who deciphered codes, who found mention of Autobot sightings, as well as any Cybertronian artifacts the humans might have accidentally stumbled across. Though communications and scanners could be operated by almost anyone, no one knew the system as Soundwave did. No one had even a whisper of his skill, nor did they have the personality to spend their days doing something mind numbing in its repetitive and often fruitless nature. Soundwave did the thankless jobs, the ones no one else could manage efficiently. His very body had been modified from its original form to make him better suited to the task. More importantly, there was no question of his loyalty. Soundwave would never withhold information from Megatron to further his own goals, never present information in a biased light to gain personal advantage. He was also wise enough to recognize the important from the trivial.

Without him... Megatron refused to consider it. Knockout would find the solution, and Megatron's plans would go forward. That was his will, and so that was how it would be. With this in mind, he managed to shed the moment of weakness that had struck him. He was Megatron, invulnerable, all-conquering. His Decepticons were strong, and they would follow where he led.

He smiled to himself, his confidence in his own position of power easily restored.

Knockout, meanwhile, frowned more and more deeply as he took in the schematics, read the notes and pieced together the conclusions from numerous experiments involving the NIWE.

* * *

"Well, Doc?" Smokescreen rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

He sounded as if he were caught between frustration and fear, a violent seesaw of emotion over which he had absolutely no control. The two feelings battled in the light of his blue optics, neither seeming quite able to triumph over the other, and then both subsiding into a look of bleakness, as his internally warring systems abruptly decided the whole thing was simply not worth the effort it took to decide which feelings were more appropriate to the situation.

Ratchet frowned as he looked at Smokescreen, but he wasn't really frowning _at_ him, but at the unseen malevolent force which seemed to be running riot in his systems and which was undeniably destroying him from the inside out. He scowled, as if he could somehow frighten whatever it was right out of the other Autobot's body. But, finally, he sighed.

"The closer, more thorough examination you just submitted to has revealed much about _what_ is happening, but I have not yet ascertained any information as to _why_ it is happening."

Smokescreen gazed back at him levelly, as if the energy needed to formulate a response simply wasn't there. In fact, from Ratchet's examination, that was exactly what was happening. For reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, Smokescreen and Bumblebee were both operating at a lower than normal power level. This was not surprising shortly after a violent confrontation, especially one involving blasters. Physical exertion and high stress environment served to sap at power strength.

But instead of reverting to normal and stabilizing once the factors were removed and their systems given time to rest and reset, they were staying at the abnormally low level. It was only slightly lower than normal, which was why Ratchet hadn't taken notice of it at first. He'd seen these readings in Cybertronians who were battle fatigued, from overlong field missions. But not quite like this, and there was seemingly no accounting for the readings. For thoroughness, he'd run a test on himself, and also Arcee (the first Autobot he could find after letting Bumblebee go) for comparison. He and Arcee, while running slightly short on energon reserves, were fairly normal in their readings.

Low energon, above a certain level, was nothing to be concerned over. Energon was their life blood, but it was also the fuel for their weaponry. The Autobots had been running on low energon for a very, very long time. Actually, if anything, Smokescreen's energon reserves were higher than what had become normal for the rest of them, which could explain his apparent excess of energy on his arrival. Maybe he hadn't been energetic, perhaps the others were simply lethargic. But that was neither here nor there.

The energon readings were roughly as expected in both Smokescreen and Bumblebee, but the actual energy (or power) output was low. The energon flowing through them was sluggish as a result, as were their other biological systems, which relied on the energy output of their very sparks to function.

And therein lay the puzzle. The sparks of both Bumblebee and Smokescreen were undamaged, pulsing strongly and regularly as ever. Their sparks were producing the energy, but it wasn't reaching their essential systems. Where the power was going, he wasn't certain. He needed to find where the output was being redirected. But, more immediately, he needed to find a way to compensate for the lost energy.

Short-term effects of low energy levels such as these were fairly well known. Irritability, apathy, inefficiency, lack of ability to judge and make decisions, et cetera, et cetera, so on and so forth. But the long-term effects were less documented and Ratchet wasn't certain he fully understood the possible implications of long-term energy deficiency.

And too, there was another piece to this puzzle. When directly questioned about their feelings, both Bumblebee and Smokescreen showed capacity for irritation and fear. But their answers made Ratchet realize they'd been going about this all wrong. They thought something had increased Smokescreen's aggression, which resulted in his attacking Bumblebee.

But a thorough questioning had revealed something far more disturbing.

"Can I go now?" Smokescreen asked, interrupting Ratchet's train of thought.

"Hmm? Oh yes, fine. Go," he waved the rookie off.

Smokescreen got up, behaving as though his own weight was almost too much for him, and shuffled off, probably to sulk somewhere. Not that he seemed to have any other choice. Ratchet decided to bring his new information to Optimus. He found Arcee and Bulkhead hovering around the Autobot leader, both of them just as worried and eager for information as Ratchet himself had been.

"Well?" Arcee practically demanded, but Ratchet addressed himself to Optimus.

He detailed his findings on the energy levels, putting it in layman's terms so he wouldn't have to explain it again to anyone. And then he plunged reluctantly into a description of the second problem.

"The low energy readings are just the start," Ratchet said.

"Just the start?" Bulkhead practically yelped, "Isn't that enough?"

"Peace, Bulkhead," Optimus told him, "Allow Ratchet to complete his report."

Ratchet nodded his thanks to Optimus, then launched into his explanation.

"The low energy readings only account for a... lessening of ability to function. The obvious indifference to being attacked, or having an ally in danger," he paused, "But that is a contributing factor to the larger issue. When Bumblebee said he hadn't felt good about anything, he was not exaggerating."

"Hard to feel good when you're exhausted," Arcee remarked sympathetically.

"It is far worse than you realize," Ratchet told her gently, "They have lost not only the ability to feel happy, they have lost ability to experience anything positive on an emotional level. To use a most basic example, they cannot feel peace within themselves."

"We're in a war, Ratchet, in case you've forgotten," Arcee pointed out.

"I am not speaking of that kind of peace. Another term might be 'rest'. A calmness about a given situation, even if it is less than ideal."

"I don't get it," Bulkhead admitted.

"In the midst of battle, you may feel anger towards the enemy, fear for your allies, and many other emotions with which we are all quite familiar," Ratchet explained, "But what do you feel after a battle?"

"It depends on whether we won or not," Bulkhead answered quickly.

"No. What do you feel after _any_ battle? Once it is concluded and you have gone back to base? What is the constant, win or lose?"

"Uh..." Bulkhead looked at Arcee, she shrugged helplessly.

"Relieved," Ratchet said, "Like it or not, you feel relieved to be alive. Relieved the battle is over for now. Relieved that any mistakes you made during the battle have already happened, so that's one fewer thing to worry about. Regardless of any other feeling you experience, relief is there, somewhere, no matter how faint or easily ignored it may be."

Arcee and Bulkhead nodded, realizing that what he said was true. Even in the darkest days, when a friend fell and a battle or world was lost, there was a sense of relief about the end of a battle, of just being able to stop fighting, if only for a moment.

"Well, Bumblebee and Smokescreen are now incapable of that. They do not feel relief, only absence," at the silence which followed the statement, Ratchet elaborated, "They feel the absence of pain, fear, anger or whatever negative occurred during the battle, but it is only that. Perhaps Bumblebee said it best when he said that he felt empty. And Smokescreen phrased it as something 'missing'. The positive, in any form, on any level. _That_ is what is missing."

Ratchet observed the faces around him register pity for their friends, but he knew it was worse than they realized even now. He had to drive his point home, especially to Optimus.

"Optimus, even hope," he said, "The ability to bear the burdens of life is granted in the darkest times by the ability to hope for a better future, or at least to feel positive about some aspect of the present or past. They cannot. And, the longer they go without being able to feel hope, or accomplishment to even the smallest degree, or affection for anyone around them... the worse things are going to get. Without anything positive to hang onto in any capacity, the road ahead for them is dark, and getting darker all the time. They have nothing but fear, anger, confusion... all the negative side of emotion. But the explosion of violence which came from Smokescreen at the start of all this was not an increase in aggression. It was a total absence of any feeling of belonging, of affection for Bumblebee or Autobots as a whole. Even respect is, in part, brought about by positive energies. Our philosophy is based on a love and respect for life. Even Decepticons have self-love and a kind of hope for the future, which takes its form in ambition for power. Without that, a Cybertronian _cannot_ continue to function."

"What are you saying, old friend?" Optimus asked, though it was plain that he knew.

"I'm saying," Ratchet answered, "that, if we cannot put a stop to this, both Smokescreen and Bumblebee will eventually shutdown entirely, of their own volition."


	8. Chapter 8

"Bumblebee, come here," Ratchet waved the Scout over.

Bumblebee regarded Ratchet, then Optimus standing nearby. He knew why he was called in. Ratchet wanted to try a device on him, to temporarily alleviate his condition while the medic worked on a permanent cure for it. He wanted to feel hopeful about it, but the only thing he had in him was nervousness about all the ways it could go wrong, fear that it might simply fail entirely.

It was a shock to realize that he'd even lost the capacity for trust. He regarded not only the object in Ratchet's hand with wariness, but the medic himself. He didn't really distrust Ratchet, only he couldn't find the peace or reassuring calm that usually came when he thought of Ratchet's abilities as a medic and Autobot, when he remembered the nearly miraculous medical feats Ratchet had accomplished. Even Ratchet's deep pain and profound regret at not being good enough to fix Bumblebee's voice was some comfort, because it proved the depth of care for others the medic had within him. But thinking of those things gave him no peace now. He knew, because Ratchet had explained it to him, that the reason he couldn't relax and simply trust Ratchet was because he literally could not experience the sensation of relaxation. He couldn't feel that he was secure even, only an absence of feeling threatened.

Raf had called it 'depression'. Depress was defined as a lowering or pressing down of something, from object to economy to activity. To weaken or make something dull. Bumblebee preferred Smokescreen's description of something being missing, but depression seemed adequate as a descriptor.

Bumblebee could not eradicate the feeling of unease. He felt he couldn't summon the energy to even cast it aside and ignore it for the moment. So instead, he drew on the one thing he seemed to have left to combat it. A sense of duty. He purposely did not consider where this came from, because he knew that it would pull up memories for which he no longer had any positive feelings. If he went over and sorted out all of the reasons he'd become what he had, he feared that he would lose even this feeble defense against the dark tide within. Without the positive energies to light up the memories, they would lose their strength, and -once that happened- he would lose what little remained of his resolve.

With every bit of willpower he could dredge up, Bumblebee crossed the room and sat down on the table where Ratchet usually had his patients lie when he examined them.

Uneasily, Bumblebee looked at the device which Ratchet intended to attach to his upper arm, just beneath the wheel hub. It looked rather like the phase shifter, but it was darker, heavier looking and flatter. It would fit beneath the tire at his shoulder well enough. The feeling of growing dread began to subside into the extensive numbness that seemed to have taken over his entire internal world.

Reluctantly, he extended his arm, allowing Ratchet to step closer and begin to apply the device to him. Unlike the phase shifter, it didn't just grip on of its own accord. Ratchet had to do it manually.

"This should increase your energy levels, bypassing whatever is blocking you from using your naturally generated spark energy to function," Ratchet said, and the compassion in his voice was unmistakable beneath its usual gruffness, "It's not a fix, more like a temporary patch job. It should allow you to function normally until I can find a more permanent solution."

 _{Just do it,}_ Bumblebee said flatly, unable to glean any reassurance at all from Ratchet's words, which sent a vague, dim echo of frustration flickering through him.

"You should feel the difference immediately," Ratchet told him, pausing for a beat and then activating the device.

It hummed as it started up, and a light at its center glowed. Then it fell silent and settled in to doing its work. Bumblebee did feel something, but for a second he didn't entirely believe he hadn't imagined it, so he remained still, refusing to react until he was certain of it.

"Well?" Arcee was impatient.

She had experienced so much pain and sorrow in her life that she couldn't seem to bear the thought of anyone else being similarly affected. She was tying herself in knots of worry. Bumblebee was not just her ally, not just her friend. He was her family, she was as devoted to him as though she were his sister.

It was not for this reason that he had been selected for the test run rather than Smokescreen. He figured several factors were involved, but the most important was simply his experience. He knew more about the nature of existence than Smokescreen, with his limited experience, could. What was not said, but which he now knew, was that it was hoped he would be able to make a less biased judgment about how the new device was affecting him. And it _was_ affecting him.

The first thing he felt was the surge of new energy. He hadn't even realized how starved for energy he was until he had what he'd been lacking, and felt systems which had put themselves into shutdown or minimal operation states come to life in response to the energy flow. He felt the energon in his body begin to liven up and do its job, as it had not done in what felt like eternity.

But he also felt...

 _{NO! Get it off! Get it off, now!}_ even as he made the fiercely toned demand, his body seemed to rebel against him and he launched backward over the table and backed up to a wall, away from anyone who could possibly comply with his request that the device be taken off.

He snarled, shaking his head as he lost the ability to translate his thoughts to speech. Desperately, he grabbed onto the device... and hesitated. He didn't _want_ it removed. He wanted to keep it. He wanted to keep feeling the energy levels he felt now. But it _must_ come off. He ripped it free and threw it as hard as he could, in a direction he didn't even think about beforehand. It bounced off the floor and rolled away, while Bumblebee sank against the wall and whirred plaintively to himself.

"Bumblebee," Optimus demanded as Ratchet scrambled to retrieve the damaged object, "What happened? Why did you do that?"

Shaking, Bumblebee knew the level of fear and painful loss could not be sustained, not without that device to keep the energies levels higher. He sank unhappily back into the despair that was not sadness, not anything, just a sort of gray emptiness, where he felt nothing.

When he spoke, he said but one thing, _{Negative.}_

"Oh no," Ratchet said, because he understood what the others did not.

Even given more energy, Bumblebee could feel nothing positive. The new energy only gave him the capacity for renewed fear, anger, pain, shame, guilt, anxiety and misery, nothing more. The Hell of it was that he'd wanted that. Anything, even pure negative, was better than the emptiness.

He trembled because he was not sure if it was one of these negatives, such as fear, that had triggered his ability to resist it, or if it was something else, something which could not be quantified as a positive or a negative. He wished he could hope it was the latter, but all he could do was stand there and tremble, quaking in an agonizing world which was empty, void, and meaningless to him now.

"Optimus," Ratchet spoke after a lengthy moment, "We have to find that device, I'm sure it had to have caused this. I need to be able to study it. Perhaps if I know how it functions, I can figure out how to make it undo... whatever it is that it's done."

* * *

"'When activated, this device initiates an electronic pulse which reverses certain biological electric systems near the spark, resulting in a negative energy feedback and redirection of positive energies to nonessential systems. A subject exposed to this will almost immediately lose all ability to experience positive emotions, and shortly thereafter will lose the ability to suppress the negative'," Knockout explained without inflection, reading scraps from the file on the NIWE, "'The short term result is an overwhelming of the system by negative energy feeds delivered directly to the core computer processes, which temporarily renders the subject unconscious. Longer term result is for the body and involuntary mental reflexes to develop a bypass routine which results in an inability to feel the negative emotions, as the subject is psychologically incapable of coping with pure negative energy with nothing to balance it. Subject will be unable to even experience relief at the removal of a negative stimuli such as one that induces fear, anxiety or even pain; there will only be a sense of absence, but not relief as properly defined.'"

Here, he paused, but Megatron merely waited for him to go on. Shrugging indifferently, Knockout continued.

"'In an attempt to preserve itself, the subject's body will find new ways to suppress the negative energies, by redirecting them before they reach the emotion center of the core processor.

"Once this occurs, the subject will deal with this new state in one of two ways.

"One, they will become increasingly apathetic, showing less and less interest in any and all stimuli as their subconscious comes to recognize that there is nothing they can do which will induce a positive state, including attempting to "think positively". To improve a mental state by thinking that things will get better, or cannot get worse, the subject must be able to feel hope, which is found in the positive energy flow, but not in the negative. Even to feel a sense of accomplishment or pride requires some amount of positive energy feedback, which was completely absent in test subjects.

"The other option is for the subject to become increasingly hostile and violent, towards themselves or others, in an attempt to hold onto what few feelings they have left and elude the growing state of emptiness inside as biology and psychology gradually shutdown all ability to feel.

"Invariably, subjects will eventually lose all touch with feeling and (sooner rather than later) attempt to end their existence. For reasons undefined, if they are restrained and therefore prevented from ending their existence, the energon flow in a subject's body will gradually reduce, until they eventually die of energon deficiency. Given medical support to keep their body functions going, subjects will eventually self induce stasis. Medically forced to remain conscious, the subject's spark will eventually fail. As yet, there is no medical reason known for this.

"If not reversed, the procedure is fatal."

He stopped, and Megatron demanded to know the obvious.

"Well, how it is reversed?" Megatron asked.

Knockout shrugged again, "You are aware that undoing things like this would be counterproductive to their original intent."

"But only a fool makes a poison with no antidote when the possibility exists that he could himself become infected," Megatron returned, "And the creators of this device were not fools.

Knockout sighed morosely, then quoted a passage that seemed unrelated to Megatron's question, "'On certain subjects, the test results are incomplete or inconclusive. Some subjects manage to continue functioning far past the accepted norm at differing low levels despite the effects of the device, for reasons unknown. Longer term research is needed to discover if the subjects could continue to function indefinitely, given the new perimeters of their existence, if they would eventually expire, or if they could somehow develop a counter measure or immunity to the negative induction,'" he paused, then explained, "Their research wasn't finished. There isn't a reverse for it."

"Then make one," Megatron ordered, his voice a low growl, "And do it _quickly_."

He would have preferred to stand over Knockout to ensure the medic didn't suddenly decide it was all too much trouble and ooze onto the floor again, but instead he turned to go and find Soundwave. He didn't like the sound of 'attempt to end their existence'. He'd been hoping the fact that Soundwave had finally stopped wandering aimlessly and abusing vehicons was a good sign. He now thoroughly doubted it. Megatron didn't run, but he did adopt a reasonably fast pace, heading for the last place he'd seen Soundwave.

He found the silent communications officer standing at his post, utterly motionless.

"Ah, Soundwave," Megatron purred, feigning a calm which he had never felt.

Soundwave didn't so much as twitch, and certainly did not look up from his instrument panels. All seemed to be in order. Suspiciously so. He remembered what Knockout had said about the functioning at low levels, of course, but he somehow doubted that Soundwave could have swung from completely out of control to his normal, impassive self in such a short time.

Then he noticed something. Stepping closer to the console, Megatron observed the fact that nothing on the screens was active. There was no scan in process, no decoding algorithm running, no search being executed. Everything was still on the screens in front of Soundwave.

"Soundwave, what are you doing?" Megatron did not expect the communications officer to speak, but he did expect an answer; something Soundwave had always been able to provide without words or facial expression, which most Cybertronians saw as benefits but which Soundwave had expressed a certain disdain for, indicating that both were wasteful and distracting from the point of communication.

But Soundwave did not provide an answer. Nor, in fact, did he respond to Megatron at all.

It was then that Megatron knew that all was not well with Soundwave. He was on his feet solely because of his near-perfect sense of balance. As unwieldy as he appeared, Soundwave could position his limbs to perfectly balance himself, so that his subconscious did not have to make constant, minute adjustments to be sure that he didn't fall over. Soundwave had skipped several steps in the deterioration process, and gone right to a self-induced shutdown.

Whirling towards the nearest vehicon, Megatron shouted furiously, "Get Knockout up here. NOW!"


	9. Chapter 9

Bumblebee had asked that the test be conducted at some time when Raf wasn't at the base, perhaps having foreseen what would happen. But Jack was there.

While the Autobots oversaw the test with Bumblebee, Jack kept an eye on Smokescreen, who had declined to be present. Instead, Smokescreen was pacing. But not in the frenetic, hurried manner denoting nerves, nor the serious, almost marching sort of pacing that often accompanied deep thought about a complicated issue of some sort. Jack was reminded of some film clips he'd seen in a documentary his school had made the class watch. The clips were of zoo animals, back when the exhibits were tiny concrete squares with heavy iron bars.

The endless circling, morose turns of the head as they swung back and forth, literally bored or stressed into insanity, performing the same repetitious action again and again without pause or variation until they dropped from exhaustion, whatever minds they had gone as they faded into adopting the sort of painful sameness that had caused their madness to begin with.

Though Smokescreen was trapped only in his own mind, it was clear that it was having the same effect upon him and, unlike a lion or a leopard, it would not take months or years for him to reach the breaking point (assuming he wasn't there already). Jack had tried to initiate some kind of conversation with the young Autobot, but Smokescreen had offered nothing in return and they lapsed into silence.

His mindless pacing was a grim reminder of one of the reasons the Autobots were robots in disguise. It wasn't only to avoid some kind of cultural contamination or causing a panic; the unpleasant truth was that Cybertronians could be overcome by human means, Silas had made that plain. And Autobots would sooner be captured, caged and dissected than harm humanity. Humans would not only want to destroy Autobots due to fear, they'd want to dismantle them to study them, and to cage them so that they could be put on display to the world as though they were not even alive, but merely something strange and interesting to look at for awhile, at least until the next over-hyped action movie came along.

Jack looked up when Arcee exited the base, but Smokescreen did not even acknowledge her; instead, he continued to pace around in the tight back and forth way, bumping up against the invisible bars of the mental cage in which he was trapped, turning around, pacing the other way, only to find himself cut off from escape in that direction as well, turning around again, ad infinitum.

Jack didn't have to ask, he could see from Arcee's expression that it wasn't good news.

"It didn't work," he said.

Arcee shook her head unhappily, "It supplied energy just like Ratchet said it would. Unfortunately, it only made the problem worse. We need to get our hands on the device itself. And that means taking on the Decepticons, probably in their own home base."

"Because that always ends well," Jack remarked sarcastically.

Arcee, watching Smokescreen pace like a tiger who'd taken leave of its senses, didn't answer. She didn't have to, because Jack already knew. The Autobots had no choice. Even if they hadn't desperately needed the numbers to face the Decepticons, their sparks were breaking at the sight of their comrades, their friends, their family, falling to pieces right in front of them; being destroyed by an invisible something that they could not fight, dying from what amounted to the purest kind of misery.

Arcee wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold. It seemed to be an unconscious action on her part, Jack had noticed, that she performed when she was in emotional anguish and trying her best to contain it, or even to suppress it entirely, to deny it power over her.

"Smokescreen," Arcee said, pausing after speaking his name.

But, if she expected him to pay attention to her, she was disappointed, because he continued to walk the well-worn track he'd been walking for well over an hour, his gaze halfway between looking ahead and looking at the ground, his optics unfocused, suggesting he didn't even need to see where he was going because he knew the route so well.

"Smokescreen," Arcee repeated, but this time plunged on, "We are going to fix this. You've just got to hang in there a little longer," she waited, but he didn't respond to her, so she turned to Jack instead, "Keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Sure," Jack replied, not exactly thrilled to be designated babysitter for a depressed Autobot, but understanding Arcee's profound concern for her comrade, the new little brother on Team Prime that none of them had wanted but whom they all felt deeply responsible for.

And who -if they were being honest- they desperately needed to help them in their fight.

"And while I'm watching him," Jack asked, "who's watching Bumblebee?"

Arcee cast another sympathetic look at Smokescreen, then returned her attention to Jack.

"Bee seems to be holding together better than Smokescreen. At least for now."

"How are you going to find the _Nemesis_?" Jack asked, "It's not exactly listed in the yellow pages."

Arcee either knew what yellow pages were, guessed, or simply didn't care for the moment, because she ignored that peculiarly Terran phrase.

"I don't really know. Ratchet and Optimus are on it though. I'm sure we'll find it," Arcee glanced significantly at Smokescreen, who behaved as though he hadn't heard her, "We've done it before."

She didn't add what they both already knew. Breaking into the Decepticon base wasn't something to take lightly, the risks were enormous. But what other choice did they have?

Taking no notice of Jack or Arcee, Smokescreen continued to walk in hopeless circles, a visual representation of the helpless circling going on in his head, from which there was no escape.

Or, rather, there was one.

* * *

"Well?" Megatron demanded irritably.

"Well, he's shut himself down," Knockout confirmed.

With a sort of vague indifference, he pushed lightly against Soundwave's head, and the taller Decepticon tipped over, clattering to the floor like so much scrap. Knockout grunted. Evidently, the action hadn't given him the satisfaction he'd been thinking it might.

"Can't you do something about that?" Megatron asked, trying to pretend for the moment that he was a patient sort of being, when in truth he was the opposite of that.

Knockout shrugged, "I'd have to examine him more closely, but I figure the power levels are down. I could medically force them back to normal, but that wouldn't do his mind any good, and that's what's going at present. Unless you'd like him to take up picking apart vehicons again, I'd recommend leaving him as is for the moment. But," he sighed wearily, "whatever you like. I really don't care."

"Yes..." Megatron growled slowly, "I'm getting that."

Knockout looked for a moment like he'd fall on his face again, swaying unevenly. But he managed to brace himself as if against a strong wind.

"I'm concerned most with that bit about the spark giving out," Megatron said, "I do not want Soundwave to expire before you have found the solution to this."

"I already told you that there isn't one," Knockout reminded him.

"And I told you to _make_ one. Are you disobeying my orders?" Megatron's voice was low, but dangerously intense; yet it failed to make much of an impression on Knockout.

"No, not as such," Knockout said, "Merely that I don't know if one can be made. And, really, I don't know how long it will be before I become..." he nodded towards Soundwave, " _that_."

"Why aren't you there already?" Megatron asked abruptly, "Surely your will is not greater than Soundwave's, nor am I inclined to credit you with so much devotion to duty as he, or even as much intellect. So why is it that you stand still, while Soundwave has shut himself down?"

Maddeningly, Knockout just shrugged, "I dunno."

Megatron narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. Damaging the medic wouldn't lend answers, nor would it make him work any faster or more passionately.

"Have Soundwave moved to your lab," Megatron said finally, "And then get back to your work. I do not have to remind you that time -for you- is extremely short."

"No," Knockout agreed dryly, "You do not."

* * *

Bumblebee stayed against the wall where he'd wound up before yanking off the contraption Ratchet had designed. Ratchet had retrieved it, placing it on a table. Bumblebee found himself staring at it, unable to look away from it, lacking the strength to avoid thinking about how much he _wanted_ it.

 _Figures. Of all the things taken from me, desire isn't one of them,_ he thought, practically aching with the want -no, the need- to feel something, anything, even if it was only anger, sorrow and pain.

He held himself against the wall, trying to summon the will to simply walk away, to stop looking at the object of desire, trying to think of something -ANYTHING- else, but unable to because all he had left was so bleak and bereft of life that it simply couldn't hold his attention off the one thing that made him feel alive again, like he still existed, like his spark was still beating within him.

He didn't really notice his resolve weakening. He just began to think that, well, he'd managed to remove it of his own volition once. Maybe, it could be put back on, just for a little while, and he could remove it again before it started to adversely affect his personality. He could just...

 _NO!_ horror at his own weakness gave him the strength to at last shake his head, moan miserably and push off the wall, begin to walk away, refuse to keep looking at that hateful thing.

But he didn't get far, just a couple of steps, before he stopped and turned towards it again.

Nobody was watching him just now. Arcee had gone to talk with Smokescreen, Ratchet and Optimus were busy trying to devise a way to find the _Nemesis_. Bulkhead had gone... somewhere, Bumblebee hadn't been paying that much attention to the others when they departed one by one, not even thinking to realize what an enormous temptation they were leaving him alone with.

For perhaps the first time, he found himself understanding one of the many stories Raf had related to him. He wasn't sure if it was what Raf called a fable, an ancient myth, legend or something else. But it had to do with the first human woman, some kind of fruit and a snake. The fruit was forbidden, but the snake promised fabulous things would come to her if the woman ate of it. It sounded rather like another story, about a girl and a box she wasn't meant to open, but opened anyway. He couldn't entirely understand that one, since Raf couldn't explain to him how all the miseries of the world could be contained inside of a box, whereas the concept of a fruit having some sort of effect on the eater of it seemed fairly straight forward. It sort of reminded him of the effects of dark energon (on the living, rather than the dead).

Bumblebee didn't know when he'd crossed the room and picked up the device, but now he suddenly was holding it in his hand. The thought of the stories Raf had told made him think of the boy. And he knew, deep in his spark, that what he was doing was wrong. He felt only the desire for the thing, he had no emotion with which to combat it, even the fear of himself was too weak, overshadowed by this most powerful of all wants, the want to not merely exist, but to actually feel, to be _alive_.

He didn't even begin to try to remember any of the other things he might want, he knew there could be nothing more desirable than that which he currently held in his hand. He began to wonder why he'd ever wanted to take it off. How could a thing he wanted so _much_ be wrong?

 _Stop this_ , he told himself, _You know this is wrong. You know what kind of monsters come from hate, anger and fear. If you do this, you will become worse than Megatron._

But he couldn't deny wanting it. Even the threat of becoming the enemy he so loathed couldn't stifle the feeling of want, of need. With a pained snarl that was more a frantic buzzing than anything, he suddenly forced his hand to close around the device. He almost broke in his resolve, hesitating to crush it, trying to convince himself that Ratchet would be angry with him and that was something to avoid. It was an inadequate denial of the truth; that he did not _want_ to destroy it. His fist tightened, the device made sounds of strain, and then shattered as though it were made of glass.

Numbly, he opened his hand, and the pieces dropped to the floor. He fell to his knees after those pieces. Empty now, resigned to the emptiness, he let the darkness close in around him. The only feeling he had left now was that of hopelessness, which was worse than any want, than any sorrow, any pain, because it was the absence of any ability to believe that those states, or that of being empty, could be changed.

He wanted to just give up, but he fought against this new desire. Because to give up, to give up... that would also be wrong. He could not allow himself to do that. He could not do that to his family, who was so desperate that he continue, who so much wanted him to remain a part of them. He could no longer think that they needed him, especially not in his present state, and he felt no warmth at the thought that they wanted him. In truth, it felt more like oppression.

All he wanted was to stop feeling this way, or not feeling this way, as the case was growing to be. A shudder ripped through him, as he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to simply shut down.

 _There is no light at the end of this tunnel, only more darkness._


	10. Chapter 10

The main problem with having only one person on staff who is completely reliable and is the only one who can be depended upon to perform a variety of vital functions becomes immediately apparent if that person ever calls in sick or gets hit by a bus. This is a problem which had never come up for Cybertronians, simply because someone of such vital import was seldom in the field and always more than adequately protected from any type of harm.

Among the Autobots, this was Ratchet, whose skills as a medic could not be valued too highly, and who could not be replaced. On the Decepticon side of things, valuable as Knockout was at times, this most irreplaceable person was Soundwave. It was he who ensured the ship itself ran smoothly and stayed unseen, and who decoded mysteries and ran scans searching for energy signatures of relevance and any number of other functions which were either too difficult or too dull for anyone else to handle properly.

Or that Megatron would trust no one else to manage. Megatron was not the trusting sort, and his Decepticons had never failed to be worthy of his endless suspicion of them. Except for Soundwave, who could always be depended upon, even when Megatron had no power (no any apparent hope of acquiring it) to stop anyone from doing anything they liked, or to punish them, or even to protect himself if they should decide to take him off life support.

Though he more or less immediately understood that the loss of Soundwave was detrimental to his plans of conquest, Megatron failed to take fully into account everything that Soundwave had heretofore been managing without aid or outside instruction. And so it was that nobody realized in time that one of Earth's military forces was running a radar scan in time to avoid it. Whether it was a test of new equipment or a routine scan or simply some technician getting bored and deciding to scan distant horizons for the heck of it wasn't relevant to anyone.

What was relevant was that Agent Fowler was informed almost at once. In addition to burying the report quickly, he put in a call to Optimus. While the _Nemesis_ had been briefly spotted before, it had always left the area before Ratchet could get his more sophisticated scanners swung in that direction to take a closer look. But because Soundwave was not at his station, and Megatron had failed to immediately assign enough personnel to take over the various functions from that station, the Decepticons did not instantly realize they had been scanned.

A handful of vehicons were a poor substitute for Soundwave. They didn't really understand the setup, and realized that Soundwave had actually run some of the programs through his own systems to increase the efficiency of them. They were lost in menus and flickering blueprints and geographical images and energy readouts that were too numerous and strangely organized to make head or tails of.

There were secondary stations where the vehicons always were working, but they all received their instruction from Soundwave's station. Without someone properly manning the post, they dissolved into uncertainty. Without clear orders, they were afraid to act at all. If they made a wrong choice, Megatron would blast them to bits. Even if they made the right choice, but too late, the result could be the same. So they stood or sat at their posts, largely inert, waiting for instruction.

The Autobot incursion was inevitable. But their disadvantage was not knowing where the device they sought would be on the ship. Even knowing where on the ship they themselves would arrive was somewhat tricky. Optimus, Arcee and Bulkhead materialized in a hallway. Ratchet remained behind to monitor communications and to activate the Ground Bridge when they were ready to go home.

"I don't like going in without Bee," Arcee had admitted.

The Autobot Scout was swift, agile and an aggressive fighter. Almost regardless of the combat situation, his quick reactions, cleverness and ability to follow someone else's lead as well as take the initiative when necessary was more valuable than any of them would like to admit. Besides which, much of his training and experience on Cybertron was getting in and out of territory and buildings occupied by the enemy. He was the best they had when it came to finding places where objects, intel or prisoners might be found.

"In his present state, I fear Bumblebee would be more of a liability than an asset," Optimus said.

Optimus was, of course, right. Bumblebee couldn't be relied upon in his present state. His focus was too wavering, his enthusiasm was nonexistent and his efficiency was down to almost nothing. Besides which, the other Autobots saw what he'd done to the invention of Ratchet's before they left. They didn't need to discuss it to know why he'd crushed it. The temptation of using it was more than he could bear. He was vulnerable mentally and emotionally, and they could easily wind up having to tow him around and remind him what he was supposed to be doing, a distraction that could prove fatal.

Bringing Smokescreen wasn't even a question. Far as they knew when they arrived, he was still pacing around outside the base. He was in no condition to do _anything_ useful on any level.

The Autobots were prepared for a firefight, but the corridor they arrived in was empty. They weren't sure what to make of this. What they didn't know was that almost every available vehicon had been dragged up to the bridge to try and achieve a level of functionality that was comparable to that which Soundwave managed to acquire with evident ease. What few vehicons weren't on the bridge were monitoring Soundwave's condition or attempting to aid Knockout (or at least keep him focused on his job). There were also several scattered about the ship in security locations. That left Dreadwing to wander the halls, but one Decepticon chancing to be in the very location on the _Nemesis_ where the three Autobots had appeared was very unlikely. Luck was, for the moment, on the side of the Autobots.

"I don't like this," Bulkhead murmured, "It's too quiet in here."

"Let's hope it stays that way," Arcee replied.

Optimus did not make a comment of his own, instead motioning Arcee to take the lead down the hall. She was the quickest of them, and presented the smallest target, and was therefore the logical choice to scout ahead. He had decided that they would check Knockout's laboratory first. It was a place aboard the _Nemesis_ they were uncomfortably familiar with.

The quiet of the ship continued to unnerve them. The absence of flashing red lights and klaxons was highly suspicious.

"Shouldn't they have realized we're here?" Bulkhead wondered, "The Ground Bridge should have sent them right into an alert."

Up on the bridge, a flashing light appeared at the corner of all screens, an alert demanding someone pay attention to it. But the vehicons were deeply mired in the complexities of the world wide web, and trying to decide whether or not hashtags were something they should be concerned about. Megatron was fuming, but he was so busy yelling at the vehicons that even he failed to notice the alert at first.

The Autobots had reached the door to Knockout's lab by the time the alert sounded. The doors in front of them burst open, and a contingent of vehicons poured out. The fight was joined at last.

* * *

"Smokescreen, don't you think you should at least _try_ to do something else?" Jack asked, feeling as if he himself would also lose his mind if he had to watch Smokescreen's pacing for another minute, "Maybe Bee and I could introduce you to video games. How about that?"

A pause, just for a beat, like the loading icon on a computer when you click to open a new program and it processes the request. Then the pacing resumed, the computer had overridden the idea of new input with the existing program, the start-up attempt failed.

Jack shook his head, annoyed to be thinking of the mechanical aspects of Cybertronians at a time like this. But it was difficult to think of anything else, with Smokescreen's own behavior decidedly repetitive and mechanical, without consciousness or intent, just set on a course, doing the same thing over and over regardless of its effect (or lack thereof) on the environment. Like a hung up computer, just doing the same thing over and over, not trying anything new, having no imagination or ability to come up with ideas of its own. That's how Smokescreen was acting.

But, evidently, he could hear Jack, was still willing to receive input. But he seemed to have rejected Jack's suggestion. Jack tried to think of another, but the truth was that he didn't really know Smokescreen all that well and the only thing he could think of was going for a drive, which seemed ill-advised just at this time so he didn't mention it, in case that proved to be the one thing Smokescreen had any interest in.

"Alright, no video games," Jack said, "What about a board game?" no response, "Watching television?" nothing, "Listening to music. You like music, don't you?"

Nothing. Just the steady, rhythmic clanking of a massive robot pacing around in an unreasonably small circle, taking interest in nothing, effectively doing nothing. Jack had seen Smokescreen's initially high aggressive state at the start of this, not the attacks on Bumblebee, just the raised hostility towards just about everything. That was gone now, and the last of Smokescreen seemed to have gone with it.

Suddenly, without any apparent provocation, Smokescreen stopped. He looked up from whatever nonexistent point he'd been staring fixedly at, turned his head and looked out at the desert, as if seeing the vast stretches of reddish dust and low, gray-brown plants for the first time.

"It's so empty here," Smokescreen observed.

Jack, a life long resident of this place, knew that was the general impression most people got upon their first look at the desert, which upon first glance seemed to contain almost nothing but strangely intricate rock formations and dusty plants resembling tumbleweed, for the perfectly good reason that a lot of them actually were just that (or a part of that, anyway). It looked like nothing could possible grow, or survive in any fashion in this desolate region, particularly around where the Autobot base was.

Having grown up in Jasper, the town that time forgot, where the most exciting thing that happened was that certain teenage morons skipped out without paying for their fast food, and never having even been outside of Nevada (or even very far outside of town) prior to meeting the Autobots, Jack was inclined to agree with Smokescreen. But he suspected saying that would only make things worse, so his mind scrambled to think of something, anything, that might contradict Smokescreen's statement.

To his surprise, his mind was quick to retrieve a veritable plethora of memories of various animal species that thrived here, and the way the desert looked after one of the great rainstorms that were a rare but definite feature of all deserts. He'd seen scorpions, Gila monsters, hawks, falcons, coyotes, jackrabbits, mule deer, chuckwalla (a disappointingly ordinary looking lizard, far less interesting than its name suggested), tortoises, various kinds of snakes (most of which were deadly poisonous), quail and -once- an eagle. He even remembered seeing tracks when he was little that he'd been excited to think might belong to a cougar, but had really been the work of a bobcat (which was really just as cool, but at the time he'd been sort of obsessed with the elusive rarity and size of cougars, and the tracks had really looked quite large to him).

"It isn't really," he said, thinking of all these things.

"It sure _looks_ empty," Smokescreen said.

Jack wondered, not for the first time, what Earth must look like as seen through Cybertronian eyes. He'd actually been to Cybertron once. Though it was a dead husk, he could see that it had once been a living, pulsing planet, covered completely with machines... or perhaps it was itself a machine, rather than an organic world like the Earth. To humans, the Earth seemed to be covered in machinery and man-made objects. From space, the planet was lit up like a Christmas tree, or so certain satellite images seemed to show. But, in comparison with the completely mechanized Cybertron, Earth must seem terribly... empty. The thing Jack had noticed most about Cybertron was its lack of trees, water, even dirt. There just wasn't organic life, or any evidence such had existed. Perhaps, looking at Earth, Cybertronians felt equally out of place and alone in this organic world.

"It only seems that way," Jack persisted, "You just have to look a little closer here than you do some other places."

Smokescreen continued to stare out at the desert, as if hoping to see something of what Jack was talking about. He said nothing for a long moment, then shook his head in a ghost of frustration.

"I've had enough," abruptly, he transformed, though it was slow and seemed to be more labored than a normal transformation sequence.

"Wait, where are you going?" Jack asked, alarmed by this new development.

"Away," Smokescreen replied, then shifted gears and roared away, leaving a thick cloud of dust in his wake.

For a long moment, Jack's only concern was that Smokescreen was leaving the base and would be hard to track down once the other Autobots returned. But then the utter bleakness in Smokescreen's voice penetrated. And too, Jack remembered the comparisons he'd drawn earlier with caged animals and a hung up computer. Caged animals, once they graduated from mindless pacing, often wasted away, or began to bite themselves as if to alleviate the boredom by self harm. A hung up computer, unable to resolve its difficulty, almost invariably crashed.

Jack stood still, not sure what to do. Then he began to run back into the base.

"Bumblebee!" he shouted, "Bumblebee, Smokescreen's run away!"

He found the Scout slouching in the main room, staring off at nothing in particular.

"Bumblebee!" Jack picked up a small stone on the floor and threw it.

It pinged harmlessly off the Scout, but roused him. Buzzing something Jack couldn't understand, he turned to look at the boy.

"Smokescreen ran away," Jack explained, "I think... I think he's going to hurt himself, or something. Bee, you've got to stop him. You've got to bring him back."

Bumblebee didn't react for a moment, then a spew of harsh buzzing came forth and he transformed. He didn't so much as wait for Jack, but immediately charged off after the wayward rookie.

Only after he was going did Jack realize that he had just dispatched the hopeless to try and talk the hopeless out of hopelessness. It was rather like the blind leading the blind. Only worse.


	11. Chapter 11

Shooting their way through the unexpected crowd of vehicons, the Autobots managed to get into Knockout's lab and looked around briefly. There was no sign of the device, but they did almost blast Soundwave out of existence. What stopped this was the sense of disbelief at seeing Soundwave -of all Decepticons- rendered helpless, and their core aversion to attacking when the enemy could not defend. Perhaps they could have resolved this, but the sound of more vehicons coming on the run didn't give them enough time and they quickly fled, reluctantly splitting up to search for the device.

There were distressingly few places that such an enormous object could be kept, but the Autobots simply did not know the ship layout well enough to be sure about which one was the most likely. It was almost by accident that Optimus stumbled on the right room, and signaled the others.

The storage bay was full of vehicons, but Optimus handled them without much difficulty. As he approached the device with high levels of caution but no small amount of curiosity, he almost tripped over something on the floor. Looking down, he found Knockout. He nudged the prone Decepticon, who groaned plaintively, rolling onto his back and looking up. Surprise failed to register on Knockout's face, he gazed up at Optimus as though seeing nothing more interesting than a ceiling tile.

"We have come to take this device from you," Optimus announced, "Do not stand in our way."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Knockout said, his voice lacking its usual arrogance and flair, sounding just as flat and empty as...- it suddenly came home to roost.

"You and Soundwave were affected by this device as well," Optimus said, and it wasn't a question.

"Oh yes," Knockout replied vaguely, "The NIWE is quite effective on all Cybertronians, even vehicons. They kicked the bucket almost immediately. Then Soundwave..." he sighed, a sigh that seemed to contain within it all the possible misery that could exist in the world, "And now... well... you can have the device for all I care, because I really can't be bothered. Take the research notes, if you think they'll help. I don't believe they will."

"NIWE?" Optimus asked.

Knockout failed to respond, so the Autobot leader hauled the smaller Decepticon medic to his feet.

"You know what this device is?" he pointed to it with his free hand, "What it does?"

"As much as I know anything," Knockout replied, shrugging indifferently, "But it doesn't matter. The research wasn't finished. They developed no cure. So, if you'll let me go, I'll just... I guess I'll just go back to lying on the floor. You may kick me as you pass, if it pleases you. I really don't care."

Optimus let him go, and Knockout fell to the floor with a clatter. However, he did not take Knockout up on his suggestion, instead carefully stepping around the heap of depressed Decepticon.

In moments, Arcee and Bulkhead converged on his position, and nearly blasted Knockout to oblivion on seeing him behind Optimus, before it registered with them that Knockout was making no attempt to attack Optimus or prevent him from doing as he pleased. In fact, Knockout wasn't doing anything at all.

"What's the matter with him?" Bulkhead inquired.

"It seems our Scout and new recruit were not the only ones to suffer from the activation of this device," Optimus replied, "And Bumblebee was right, it is of Decepticon origin. But these notes indicate it is an incomplete prototype. Perhaps Ratchet can make use of the Decepticon's research, and find a cure."

"Only if we get out of here fast enough," Arcee pointed out.

"I am currently downloading all information about the NIWE," Optimus replied, "It will take a moment."

"A moment we may not have," Arcee said, "The Decepticons may have been slow on the uptake, but they're hot on our heels now. There's no way we can hold them back for long."

"Nevertheless, this research may be vital to saving the lives of our comrades. We must take it, and the NIWE device back with us."

"We'll buy you the time, Optimus," Bulkhead promised, "Somehow."

He looked to Arcee, and she nodded in confirmation. This was a fight they could not win, but they might yet emerge the victors by holding back the Decepticons until they were able to take what they needed. They glanced again at Knockout, who remained on the floor, muttering to himself about nothing in particular. Then they ignored him. For now, at least, Knockout was harmless.

* * *

Bumblebee wasn't sure what he was rushing towards. It seemed like maybe nothing. He knew of no hope he could offer Smokescreen, nor could he in honesty say that he cared much one way or the other whether Smokescreen lived or died. At first, even though he couldn't conjure up certain feelings, he could at least remember having had them. The profound feeling of the value of life, the importance of the Autobot mission, that had been an unshakable foundation to build his way of being upon for as long as he could recall. But he could not express to Smokescreen how precious life was, since he couldn't react to its beauty and felt as though he were forgetting what that had even been like.

The world was just a bunch of colors and shapes to him, each as meaningless as the last. Though the world was alive with reds, yellows, browns and the blue of the sky overhead, to him it all might as well just be gray. There was no shade of color he was able to like any more or less than any other, none of the shapes represented anything he could really manage to get himself to care about.

It was all just gray. Everything was gray. Who cared about any of it?

If he couldn't make an argument to himself, how was he supposed to help Smokescreen, who -if anything- had less to believe in than he did? Smokescreen was new to Earth, had barely begun to see its value and beauty, only just started to understand what the others had long known. He had not seen Cybertron die, had not had the time to come to see this planet as his new home. He had not had the time to belong to their tight knit group, more a family than a military unit. He'd quickly befriended Jack, but the true depth of relationship took time... he hadn't had enough to understand how important the humans were on anything other than a "Because Optimus said so" kind of level, combined with the Autobot belief in the sanctity of life; _all_ life. Smokescreen had nothing to draw on in the way of experience. He was so young, there were many things he wouldn't have even begun to consider.

Bumblebee was pretty young himself, as Autobots went, and he knew he wasn't as strong as the others in some ways, but he'd seen his share of darkness, seen his share of light in that darkness, known hope when there seemed none to be found. Moreover, he had learned that belief is not based in emotion.

Courage is not the absence of fear or the presence of self-confidence or hope for the future. Courage roars in the silence, shines in the darkness, because it is a resistance to despair when all logic and emotion says there is nothing left to fight for. Courage is going on when you feel like dying.

And there, Bumblebee realized, was his argument.

Courage was not rooted in positive emotion. It found its source in the denial of the negative, not in the acceptance or presence of the positive. This was what had given Bumblebee the strength to resist the device Ratchet had put on him. But courage was not alone.

Belief, true belief, was not emotionally based at all. Just because Bumblebee couldn't feel anything positive for anyone or anything, it didn't mean he stopped believing. Just because he had no hope, nor any thought that there might be reason for hope, that didn't give him the right to give up.

Suddenly he realized that his speed had increased while he was lost in thought. The thoughts seemed to lend him strength, where before even reaching the speed limit had seemed more effort than he was capable of. Now he was pushing ninety without even thinking about it. He didn't feel a thrill at the observation, nor was he puzzled by it. This wasn't positive thinking, because he couldn't manage that.

But it was a denial of the darkness within, the insistence on continuing because of what he believed was right and preventing what was wrong, not because he felt anything but because it was the right thing to do, was a vicious slash at the dull indifference that had hold of him. When sunk in misery, it was easy to stop fighting, to stop thinking, to just... stop. And it was hard -so damned hard- to fight that inertia, especially when you had nothing to fight it with. You can't push against nothing, especially when that nothing is all you've got. Numbness had spread through him, but he was still moving.

That gave him no comfort, but it was a fact. He was moving. He must continue moving.

It was this extra boost that allowed him to overtake Smokescreen, who would ordinarily have been much faster than he was. Smokescreen was moving too, but not as quickly. He was on a slow plod to nowhere. Or, more specifically, toward a cliff, off the edge of which he probably intended to drive.

Bumblebee realized the appeal of that. The numbness was worse than the former fear and anger. The dreadful dimness of things, the emptiness, the void inside was worse than pain. Bumblebee felt the allure of ending that torment, and for a moment he drifted past Smokescreen and towards oblivion.

"Bumblebee!" Smokescreen's voice snapped him out of the haze, "What are you doing here?"

Bumblebee shuddered, swung around and stopped in front of Smokescreen. Dust spun around the two halted vehicles, momentarily blinding them. Neither of them transformed, it was simply too much work. Instead, they sat, grill to grill, silently regarding one another while the dust swirled around them.

 _{I cannot let you do this,}_ Bumblebee said firmly.

"Why not?" Smokescreen asked, "There's nothing else left to do. Ratchet's invention didn't work, and the other Autobots are off on some mission that's nothing short of suicide. They probably won't come back and, if they do, they still probably won't have a solution. I can't _take_ any more of this."

His voice broke, and he lurched sideways, as if to drive around Bumblebee. Rapidly, Bumblebee lunged forward, not giving him the space to turn. Smokescreen started to back up, but Bumblebee stayed right with him until he stopped.

"Why can't you let this go?!" Smokescreen wailed, his voice filled with nothing but despair, "You guys never needed me, and you sure don't need me now. Just let me go!"

 _{No,}_ Bumblebee snarled, trying to summon up the anger he'd lost, but unable to do it, trying to find words of the kind Optimus might use, but finding instead only one, pitifully small statement that he could make, _{You are an Autobot, Smokescreen. Do you know what that means?}_

"How can you even ask me that?" Smokescreen asked, "I've fought alongside you, haven't I? I've risked my spark for you guys, for the Autobot cause. How can you question me about that?"

Bumblebee refused to be daunted by Smokescreen's response, _{Autobots do not fight for themselves. They fight for others. For one another. For a common set of ideals. And Autobots do_ not _give up just because things get hard.}_

"Things aren't just hard," Smokescreen said, "And you know it as well as I do. This is impossible. We can't keep going this way. There's nothing left for us. Nothing."

 _{We were built to be courageous. To stand up, to fight, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to support -in any way we can- the cause which we all believe in. You are an Autobot, made to be courageous. So be courageous now. Prove now, right here, today, that you are the Autobot that you have told us you are. Put aside your feelings, and be what you are. All that we are is not contained in feelings, in thoughts, in memories. It's in the spark, Smokescreen. Fight, Smokescreen. The enemy is in you, so fight. Fight for what you believe in.}_

"I... can't," Smokescreen whispered, "I don't have anything left to fight with."

 _{Conviction does not begin in positive or negative energy, and_ that _is stronger than either one. Life has value. All life. To destroy life, any life, is a tragedy, even if it is sometimes necessary. But your own life being destroyed here and now is_ not _necessary. In fact, it is wrong. If you believe that all life has value, then you believe_ you _have value. What you want is less important than what is right. You want this, I know. So do I. But this is_ wrong _, and we both know it. Accept that.}_

"It's hard," Smokescreen said weakly.

 _{I know,}_ Bumblebee replied, _{But you must do it.}_

"I don't know if I can."

 _{Don't lie to me. You can, you just don't want to. I will not let you lie to yourself.}_

Still, Smokescreen hesitated, so Bumblebee drove home with the only point he had left.

 _{You are responsible for your actions. In saying that you are an Autobot, claiming to support our ideals and share in our beliefs, in saying you stand with us, you make yourself accountable for everything that you do, even more than you would be otherwise. And that includes every choice you make, even the ones we don't see, that you think don't affect us, the ones we'll never know about. You are responsible, Smokescreen.}_

"I'm scared," Smokescreen said, sounding almost surprised, like the idea of feeling anything was astonishing to him.

 _{I am too,}_ Bumblebee told him, equally surprised to find that what he said was true, _{I'm scared to death, of just about everything, but mostly not being good enough to hold together. I'm terrified that this won't end, that I'll have to fight this fight every second for the rest of my life, and I'm scared I'm not strong enough for that. But I am still here.}_

Smokescreen started to speak, but his voice cracked. He tried again, succeeding this time.

"I am too," he managed to whisper.

 _{Then let's go back home. Where we both belong.}_

"Okay."

Hesitantly, Smokescreen backed up, and slowly turned around. Together, they returned the way they'd come, leaving the cliff to stand alone, its deadly potential denied as they drove away from it.


	12. Chapter 12

The sound of shots being fired and muffled voices yelling unintelligibly on the other side of a closed door disturbed Knockout, for reasons he couldn't adequately define. Lying on the floor where the Prime had dropped him, Knockout had become absorbed in contemplation of the question Megatron had put to him; the question of why he was still operational when Soundwave had shut down.

He had come to an answer that, while not satisfying, was at the very least acceptable.

One of the side effects of the NIWE was a lowering of usable energy, which had the effect of making a Cybertronian feel especially lethargic. Knockout, being almost totally self-involved, immediately fell on his face and conserved as much energy as possible. But Soundwave -loyal, devoted Soundwave- he put energy into continuing to function for Megatron. Even though he'd been doing an abysmal job lately, he'd been chasing around vehicons that disappointed him in some fashion and gone hunting for Autobots (though whether he'd found any was a matter of speculation; certainly Soundwave would never tell), burning energies he had no means of replacing.

Soundwave gave of himself to the Decepticon cause; Knockout kept his limited energies for himself.

Knockout decided that telling Megatron about his discovery would be a singularly unhealthy choice, as Megatron would not be well pleased with his reasoning, especially now that the Autobots were shunting the NIWE device through their Ground Bridge and escaping. He supposed maybe he should have tried to stop them, but he knew he couldn't gather enthusiasm for that on a good day, forget today. The cold reality was that, had he stood in their way, they would have vaporized him. Not that it would have been their first choice. Obviously, their first choice was to ignore him and simply go about their business.

But, doubtless, their own officers were behaving in much the way that Soundwave and Knockout himself were, and they were desperate to fix things before they got more out of hand. However out of hand things were at present. Autobots would kill to save their own, despite all their high moralizing and endless speechifying about the sanctity of life. Not that Knockout was any less inclined to kill for his own gain. No, though it wasn't his first choice because it entailed so much work and unwonted mess (and often ended with someone wanting you dead for killing their friend), killing was a part of survival, something which Knockout had heretofore pursued with great alacrity.

As the Ground Bridge whooshed out of existence, Megatron came blasting through the door. Seeing Knockout lying on the floor, quite alive, the Decepticon leader stormed over and glared at him.

"Why didn't you stop them!?" he demanded in rage.

Knockout shrugged, "It didn't seem worth the effort. It's not as if they can figure out anything we don't already know."

Megatron began to sputter profanities, but Knockout wasn't listening. Not that he'd have cared if he had been listening. He was beginning to think caring -about anything- was highly overrated. Perhaps Soundwave had it right; just switch off. Being online was really more trouble than it was worth anyway.

* * *

It is a strange psychological quirk that people can believe something without applying it to themselves. Everything Bumblebee had thought and said to save Smokescreen from himself, he believed. But it didn't stop him from feeling desolate in himself and, despite the high value he placed upon all life, he felt himself to be worthless at times, particularly just now, when he could think of no positive to counter the negative.

It is easy to tell someone else their life has value, but even the tremendously narcissistic seem to have to constantly find ways to prove their own worth, if only privately to themselves.

Bumblebee understood the nature of warfare. Wars may be finally won or lost based on a single battle, but to get to that point many battles must be fought, many are won and many are lost. Bumblebee understood his triumph at the cliff, but almost immediately a new battle began, a fight with despair, a big, black nothing he couldn't touch or seem to affect. Repeating in his head what he'd been thinking and saying earlier didn't seem to work, and he soon lost the will for it.

When that awful void reached for him, it seemed to suck any mental defense he had into itself. It leaned itself up against what was left of his courage, and began to erode it. It didn't hurt, and didn't frighten. It was a terrible thing indeed, this darkness inside, for not being horrifying, for seeming as though it was perhaps the only means of escape from desolation. The longer it leaned, the heavier it was to carry, and the stronger it became, the greater the temptation to just give in to oblivion.

Bumblebee knew war. But, up to now, he had never been acquainted with depression, which came in various guises. Feeling like a container which held none of the usual or appropriate contents, a container with nothing in it. Having a heavy weight pressing on you, but the weight gradually increasing without your noticing it until one day it suddenly breaks you. A blackened ocean, in which you begin to drown. Described in a thousand ways, what in the end it is a void that begins in time to feel like a friend, and lures the unwary into its depths where before they would have resisted it. But Bumblebee knew something more than war. He knew torture. He knew being held captive, with no one knowing where he was, no one coming for him.

The first thing that inky blackness sunk its claws into was hope, because that was the first, easiest, best defense against it. Having stolen that, despair crept in like a thief in the night, taking whatever it could get away with, tearing down defenses one by one until there was nothing left. For some, the change was gradual, the darkness taking weeks, months or even years to claw its way up from the viscous depths of darkness. But it could also come roaring up like a charging bull, seemingly from nowhere, sweeping in like a tornado and turning everything on its head. Either way, it was difficult to fight, because the victim was almost always unprepared for the assault.

Having successfully fended off the demons of apathy and hopelessness to pursue Smokescreen, and developed an adequate defense for the rookie against the encroaching dark, Bumblebee was woefully unprepared for the assault on his systems. He thought his defenses were solid for the moment, and did not anticipate the mental walls he'd erected to keep the dark out to simply crumble and fall without apparent cause. He'd just won a major victory, that ought to have made him stronger. But that isn't how warfare works. Victory can make men careless, and battle is exhausting.

Bumblebee didn't notice when he stopped moving.

Desperately, he tried to organize his scattered thoughts. He reminded himself that Optimus and the others were going to get the device, which probably had caused this, and Ratchet was good with that kind of thing and could likely figure it out. He reminded himself that he'd just saved Smokescreen from leaping off a cliff and dashing himself against the jagged rocks below, and that was worth something. He reminded himself of what he'd told Smokescreen about courage.

But what he was contemplating wasn't _really_ the same thing, was it? He was just tired. He just needed to... to shut down for awhile, to get away from... what? He didn't have a name for what he wanted to get away from. He wanted to be out from under this weight, he wanted to escape the gray tones life had taken, he wanted to go somewhere he didn't have to feel this horrible emptiness. But it was inside him, so there was only one escape. But he wasn't suicidal, not really. Just a self-induced shutdown, for a while. How bad could that be? Just to go away for awhile. Nobody would miss him, there wasn't anything he could do to help right now anyway. He could just...

"Bumblebee!" Smokescreen's bumper smacked against his side, and Bumblebee rocked on his shock absorbers.

 _{Smokescreen! What are you doing?}_

"You stopped driving," Smokescreen replied, "You didn't answer me. I tried to get your attention, but you didn't seem to hear me. Since we're on the road, people might see us, so I decided not to transform, and hitting you seemed like the thing to do."

 _{Well that explains why Ratchet is the medic instead of you,}_ Bumblebee grumbled.

"What are you complaining about? I think I dented my bumper," Smokescreen retorted.

Bumblebee knew he should be grateful to Smokescreen for snapping him out of his daze. But he mostly felt annoyance at being interrupted, a sense of violation at having his private thoughts intruded upon by the rookie smashing into him like he thought they were taking part in a two car demolition derby.

The irritation was so glaringly different from the nothing that his internal world was thrown for another loop. In the desperate scramble to right itself, some part of him recognized the vast difference, and found even anger preferable to nothing at all. It was sufficient to turn him away from the idea of shutting down, rendering himself effectively dead to the world. By so little had he resisted. Without Smokescreen to jar him to reality, he wasn't sure he would have managed it at all.

"You finished sulking?" Smokescreen inquired, "Because, like you said, it's time we went home."

As though spurred into action by the words, their comm units both chimed. Activating them, they were greeted by the sound of Ratchet yelling at them.

" _Bumblebee! Smokescreen! Where are you two? This is no time to be out joyriding! Get back to base immediately!"_

"Is he mad at us?" Smokescreen wondered.

He didn't know Ratchet as well as Bumblebee did. Otherwise he'd have been able to hear the slight tinge of fear to the voice, which did sound mad. Bumblebee knew Ratchet was so terrified he was angry. And with good reason. Neither Bumblebee nor Smokescreen was in a good frame of mind, nor even a stable one, as evidenced by Bumblebee's sudden slip just now.

 _{Are Optimus and the others...}_ he wanted to say "back yet", but somehow a darker thought asserted itself and refused to let him finish the question, as if by finishing it his own optimism might somehow bring an evil to life that didn't already exist.

It wasn't rational. He wasn't rational. But he suddenly had the terrible feeling that they had all been killed, killed trying to save him and Smokescreen. So long as he didn't suggest it, maybe it wouldn't be real. But he couldn't bring himself to sound any less dismal, so he didn't finish the question.

" _Alive, well and here at base. As you should be."_

Bumblebee keenly felt the absence of any relief as he responded, _{We're on our way, Ratchet.}_

* * *

"At least they're both still online," Ratchet said, letting out a sigh of relief, "You should have come to me when Smokescreen took off."

"I know," Jack replied, "But I found Bumblebee first, and I just had this thought that... well... you'd never be able to catch up to Smokescreen if he ran, and Bumblebee might be able to... you know, reason with him, since he knows what Smokescreen's going through better than any of us."

"Lucky thing you were right," Arcee remarked, arms crossed as she tried to reconcile her alarm on returning and finding Bumblebee and Smokescreen gone and her relief at hearing the Scout's voice.

She was clearly not trying to sound angry, but that's the way her fear usually came out when she refused to let it express itself in the natural way. She hadn't quite switched gears to relief yet. She wouldn't really feel better until Bumblebee and Smokescreen were back at base, where she could see firsthand that they were well, and prevent any further harm from coming to them.

Having established that his two patients were coming back, Ratchet turned his attention to the copied data Optimus had retrieved. The NIWE device loomed large and menacing in a corner, but he ignored the ugly thing for the moment, instead focusing on the notes Knockout had been making, which brought a minimum of organization to the almost frantically disjointed research files.

"It's going to take some time to analyze all this," Ratchet said, "But, from the looks of Knockout's scribblings, there isn't any reversal mechanism. I'll have to find a way to design one. It looks like Knockout was in the process of doing the same thing, but... his notations are fragmented, unrelated, like he forgot what line he was following from one minute to the next."

"Or just didn't care," Arcee suggested, "He looked on the verge of shutdown, and Soundwave already beat him to it," a thought occurred to her, "Is that going to happen to Smokescreen and Bumblebee?"

"Most probably," Ratchet answered, "Most Decepticon inventions do have the eventual intention of being fatal, and the complete removal of positive energies is an efficient way go about it."

"Like when Bee and Smoke fought Soundwave," Bulkhead remembered, "They weren't really into it, like they didn't care."

"Making their defenses weak, and their attacks lackluster," Arcee agreed.

"Exactly," Ratchet said, "Only it looks like the NIWE device might take it a step further. There are some notes here that refer to self-induced shutdown. If the process is reversed somehow, the victims -referred to as 'subjects' in the notes- sparks eventually just... give out. The notes read like it's a mystery why that happens. Decepticon scientists," he shook his head in disgust, "Always more concerned with the technological than the biological. The reason why is obvious."

Jack wasn't so sure it was obvious, but he decided not to ask about it. He figured he probably wouldn't be able to understand the answer, even if Ratchet deigned to explain it to him.

"We shall leave you to work undisturbed," Optimus said.

By way of response, Ratchet merely waved dismissively, fully absorbed in trying to decipher the cryptic notes of Knockout and tie them in with the research texts and images, attempting to unravel the secrets of the NIWE; secrets even a team of Decepticon scientists seemed unable to unravel.


	13. Chapter 13

Megatron didn't appear to understand that nothing of any consequence had been lost. He, always of a material mind, thought the NIWE device itself was critical to unraveling the mystery of how to stop its negative effects; that, somehow, having the device would be equal to finding a solution and -having lost it- the Decepticons were now doomed to be down a scientist and a tactical officer, the two positions so irreplaceable that -when he had taken power- even Starscream would not dare harm either one of them, despite the potential threat coming from Soundwave's overt loyalty to Megatron and Knockout's superior medical skill (without Knockout's medical know-how, Megatron would not have lived long enough to be reawakened).

Understandably, Megatron was in a rage. But Knockout was impassive, and not just because of a profound indifference brought on by the fact that any amount of difference would be less energy efficient than the purest kind of apathy, the kind that didn't even leave room for scorn or vanity.

"It's not as if we could actually _use_ it," Knockout said with a shrug, "To set the thing off, you'd have to expose yourself to the same effect. How do you think they got Decepticon test subjects? I guarantee nobody volunteered, at a guess I'd say they simply weren't told how the device really functioned."

"I do not need historical theory from you," Megatron spat, and Knockout shrugged again, "You let the Autobots just come in and take the NIWE device, which was your only chance at a future as anything other than a glorified doorstop."

"Ugh, you soldier-types are all the same," Knockout said, throwing his hands in the air.

It was a remark that, usually, he wouldn't have dared speak aloud to Megatron. It was also a remark that would normally have gotten him cuffed upside the head, or worse. But Megatron knew ruling through fear was only effective if your subjects had the ability to feel it, and it was obvious by Knockout's remark that he had lost all sense of self preservation.

"You're always about the objects. I don't need the NIWE. Heck, I could build one of my own with the information contained in those files, though by the Pits of Kaon I can't imagine why I'd do _that_."

"What are you saying?" Megatron demanded, "That you can find the solution without the device itself?"

"You don't cure rust with rust, do you?" Knockout responded coolly, "Cause and cure are not inherently intertwined. You've been on Earth too long, Lord Megatron, you've begun to think in human terms."

This insult Megatron did strike Knockout for. He immediately regretted it, because it was getting more and more difficult all the time to drag Knockout back to his feet once he went down. Besides which, it wasn't all that satisfying to scratch his paint and dent his chrome when he obviously didn't care about it.

"If you can repair the damage, then do it," Megatron growled.

Knockout, lying on the floor and gazing at the ceiling, shrugged again.

* * *

In an attempt to dissuade himself from further thoughts of shutdown when he returned to the Autobot base, Bumblebee took up pacing, unaware that Smokescreen had done the same thing earlier to no avail. Smokescreen didn't bother to transform, and just sat in the main hall like some oversized child's toy lying forgotten somewhere when lunchtime arrived, just waiting to be kicked or stepped on by the next adult to pass by.

Arcee's spark ached for both of them and she turned to Ratchet, "There must be something we can do while you're working on a permanent solution, some way of keeping them occupied and interested."

Ratchet paused in his reading and looked at her, "I am open to suggestions."

Bulkhead, though reluctant to talk about his own feelings much, decided to speak up.

"When I was recovering and feelin' useless, I mostly felt left out, or like I was in the way. It didn't really matter where I was or what I was doing, I was unhappy about it. Miko taking the time to really pay attention to me, and not being put off by my attitude helped."

"How does that apply to them?" Arcee gestured towards where Bumblebee was making another futile loop around the motionless Smokescreen, "I don't think they _want_ to be included in anything."

"Sometimes when you're down," Bulkhead explained quietly, "you don't know what you want. Everything seems like it's bad, and you're sure either you won't enjoy it or whoever's with you won't like it. So you don't want to participate because... well... you're afraid of being more unhappy, or making someone else unhappy."

"Or that you might actually enjoy it," Arcee said, now reluctantly recalling her own experiences, "And you feel like you shouldn't because you don't deserve to be happy. About anything. Ever."

"Perhaps you two know more about depression than you let on," Jack said.

He'd been sitting quietly, just watching Bumblebee pace and Smokescreen sit inert. His remark surprised both Arcee and Bulkhead, who had -up to now- thought they knew nothing of what Raf had called 'depression'. They hadn't understood what he'd described, it hadn't made sense to them. But Jack was right, they both knew what it was like to be so far down you didn't even really feel sad anymore, to be in a darkness from which there seemed to be no escape.

"You get comfortable in the misery after awhile," Arcee went on, hesitantly, "It becomes familiar, and you don't really want to climb out of the pit, because the darkness is all you know anymore."

Bulkhead was silent for a moment, then sighed, "I don't see how that helps us to help them."

"Neither do I," Arcee admitted, "I guess understanding it isn't really a lot of help in this situation."

"Well," Jack said, "Sometimes you don't need to understand, just... accept."

"How do you mean?" Arcee inquired.

"Maybe think of it like Bumblebee's voice. I can't understand him, but I _can_ communicate with him, and I don't ask him to do something he can't, namely speak a language I can understand. Just... don't avoid it or deny it, but don't make a big deal out of it, either. His voice is just a part of who he is now. The fact that he can't speak like the rest of us isn't something he can do anything about. If he wasn't willing to try and get around it, by communicating in other ways, then he'd have a real problem. But he does what he can, and then I just try to meet him there."

"I don't think I get it," Bulkhead said.

"Maybe I do," Arcee said, "I think Jack's telling us to treat them as if they were normal, demanding that they not give up, but not asking them to feel things they don't, or explain what they can't."

"Something like that," Jack said.

"The touchy feely stuff isn't really my department," Arcee admitted.

"It doesn't have to be," Jack told her, "Just listen if they want to talk, and talk if they want to listen."

"Sounds easy enough," Bulkhead said, "But I dunno."

"Well we've got to try _something_ ," Arcee said.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Soundwave."

Knockout spoke these words from a safe distance, perfectly aware that the first thing Soundwave was likely to do was destroy something, probably the nearest thing he could reach. Instead, Soundwave merely sat up and cocked his head towards Knockout curiously.

"Never thought I'd use _you_ for a test subject," Knockout remarked, gesturing to Soundwave's left arm.

Soundwave followed the gesture, turning his head and peering at the device strapped to his upper arm.

"It's not really a solution, just a temporary power surge," Knockout said, "Maybe it will buy me time to find the answer. Then again," he shrugged, "maybe not."

Knockout had found the same 'band-aid' Ratchet had, only he knew the effect it had. He knew the negative was all he could feel, but he realized it didn't matter. It would buy him time. Time to find a solution. Or to prove that one couldn't be found so Megatron would finally leave him alone.

He'd expected Soundwave to awaken to violence, which had been almost his sole focus since being hit by the blast from the NIWE. That the Decepticon tactician merely sat up and looked around was a little disconcerting. It wasn't the reaction Knockout had anticipated, and that puzzled him.

After having observed the object strapped to him for a time, evidently deciding it bore no closer examination, Soundwave looked not at Knockout but at Laserbeak. Laserbeak was attached to his chest and, so far as Knockout knew, had not been deployed since before this business with the NIWE device started. It occurred to Knockout that Soundwave supplied power to Laserbeak, and that perhaps this -more than his earlier theory- was what had caused the shutdown. Certainly it was more comfortable to tell Megatron than Knockout's earlier theory was. It also seemed more plausible. In his present condition, Soundwave could not produce power for two for very long, regardless of what he did.

Knockout wondered what the NIWE was doing to the relationship between Soundwave and Laserbeak. Could it affect mini-cons at all? Certainly the files on it had said nothing about that. Of course, mini-cons were relatively rare, and there wasn't an Autobot in Decepticon records who had one, except prior to the death of Cybertron and -even then- it had been something of a rarity. With energon in short supply, the idea of sparing some of the precious fuel to support a minicon was a risk too great to even contemplate... only Soundwave seemed to deem the price worth the advantage. Of course, he was seldom in combat. Energon wasn't just lifeblood, it was also firepower and engine fuel. Soundwave rarely left the _Nemesis_ , and was ever economical in his usage of energy in any form.

Soundwave started to lift a hand, as though to touch Laserbeak, but then arrested the movement.

 _Interesting_ , Knockout thought, _Even with failing energy reserves and having an emotional crisis, he hasn't hurt Laserbeak, or removed the minicon from his person._

He wondered if it were possible for him to feel that level of devotion to anyone or anything besides himself. He supposed probably not. Just now, he didn't even feel any particular affinity for himself, and wondered how Soundwave could possibly manage to remain attached to his minicon.

Knockout's thoughts were not wandering.

He was observing, and filing data away. Was it possible the minicon, or Soundwave's devotion to it, might have some bearing on finding the cure for this ailment? The layman would say no, but Knockout had been a scientist for too long to discount anything of this nature as irrelevant. Then his thoughts really did begin to wander.

Sometimes he wondered how he'd been roped into this war. He loved only a few things in this universe, most of them had to do with himself. But he did so enjoy dissecting things, and the Decepticons offered more opportunities for that kind of hands-on research and experimentation. They also didn't discourage him from his narcissistic tendencies, except when that interfered with his work. Autobots were all about being selfless, and caring for one another and other beings, and that simply didn't suit Knockout at all. He couldn't imagine even trying to put others before himself. The only reason he'd put his new invention on Soundwave before himself was to make sure it actually worked.

And that thought brought him sharply back to the present.

"I'm done with you," Knockout said, waving a dismissive hand, "You may go."

Soundwave's featureless face turned towards him, and somehow managed to convey that Soundwave intended to leave whenever he felt like it, and that Knockout had no control over whether he left or stayed. Then he got up and left, probably to find another vehicon to take apart.

* * *

"The idea behind this device is insidious," Ratchet grumbled to Optimus, "Low even for Decepticons. It somehow separates the positive and negative, not what we think of as right and wrong, but the difference between any feeling that's good, pleasant or enjoyable in any way, and feelings that are equally unpleasant; somehow blocking the one and therefore enhancing the power of the other. You can't live that way, nobody could. Not for long. We probably don't even notice most of the positives we experience in a given day. Being self assured, feeling secure in a given environment, comforted by the presence of familiar routines and people," he shook his head, realizing that he was detailing something Optimus already understood all too well, "I doubt I can even imagine it. No wonder the victims become suicidal."

"Are you any closer to a solution?" Optimus inquired, unable to entirely conceal the concern and urgency he felt.

"In that I now understand the intended function of the NIWE device, yes," Ratchet said, then sighed, "But as to turning that knowledge into a cure... I'm afraid I am not."

Optimus nodded quietly. He said nothing, knowing there was no urging that could make Ratchet work any harder than he always was, no speech which might inspire him. Ratchet was too old and too experienced a soldier to need either prodding or encouragement from Optimus; likely he would find it only irritating.

Nevertheless, it was not easy to remain silent. Not when he knew how much was at stake. Not when he knew that their time was fast running out.


	14. Chapter 14

"If I reverse the polarity of the phase inverter... wait, no," Knockout had been muttering to himself for over two hours, and seemed to be no closer to his desired goal than before he'd started.

What he couldn't tell for certain was if that was actually true, or if he simply _felt_ that way. He had no memory markers to tell him about instances of forward progress, as the feeling of success was totally absent. He didn't have time to reconstruct everything he'd done up to now and try to figure if he'd actually made progress or not. He couldn't afford the time. He had to keep working.

"The agitator coils, no, those are just fine," he began to pace, his frantic need outweighing his irritation at not being able to resolve this problem, but not exceeding the crushing feeling of self-doubt which was something he'd never had to learn out to resist because it was not something he normally experienced.

Even if he could not do something, he never consciously perceived it as being his fault. More the fault of the universe for not aligning itself so he could achieve success. But, on some subtle level, he must have wondered if maybe he himself wasn't good enough to accomplish some things, because now that doubt was rushing and roaring to the surface, because his typical pride and self assurance was conspicuously absent from his diminished repertoire of feelings. The energy boost his arm band had given him only made these negatives stronger, rather than giving him anything to fight them with.

In a fit of frustration, Knockout took apart the object he'd been assembling, and dropped the various pieces on the table he'd been working at. The burst of anger spent before he could begin arbitrarily smashing things, Knockout began to soberly arrange the parts into organized rows. Suddenly furious at the wasted time and effort, he almost swept the pieces to the floor, but managed to turn away and stomp over to a bank of monitors, the nearest of which he promptly put his fist through. Sparks exploded from it, and he felt the currents of energy pass across his shell and dissipate. He sighed, looking at his arm, which was through the screen up to the elbow. He supposed maybe he shouldn't have done that.

"The magnetism flux and the agitator coils are incompatible," Knockout realized, pulling his arm from the obliterated monitor and turning back to the device, "Which means a substitute or adapter is necessary for the final activation sequence. Of course."

He quickly fitted various pieces together, quickly reassembling up to the point he'd been at, then slowing down as he began to make the corrections. The doubt almost immediately crept in, whispering in his ear, suggesting he had no idea what he was doing, that the changes he was making might only make things worse, that he should stop and make sure before wasting more energy on a futile pursuit.

He shook his head, trying to silence the soft voice. This was no time to be sitting around doing nothing. This was his only chance at escape, and he desired that, wanted it, _needed_ it, more than anything else he'd ever wanted or needed in his life. Desire was supporting him in place of confidence. Want was unpleasant, but it was probably better than the alternative, which was just not caring at all.

* * *

The night was long.

Bumblebee was exhausted, but he didn't dare induce stasis, fearing he wouldn't have what it took to pry himself out of the rest state once he allowed himself to sink into unconsciousness. It was _so_ inviting. He was tired of feeling hollowed out, like some invisible hand had reached inside and scooped out everything of meaning or value inside of him, leaving him with only the ragged and frayed remains of his former self. He was like an empty building, crumbling in on itself because somebody got the bright idea to remove all the load bearing posts.

Bumblebee had heard it said that no one was tested above what they were able to bear. That had always confused him, because he'd thought of it in physical terms, and he could think of more than one occasion where he'd had to lift, carry or drag something that was heavier than he could manage. He'd torn himself up pretty good a couple of times doing just that.

He'd finally started to understand when he'd endured torture at the hands of Megatron. His body would have failed him if not for Ratchet, but his will remained intact. And the point had come home to roost when Megatron had injured Raf. Bumblebee had experienced the feeling of being crushed from the inside out, worse by far than any of his comrades dying, because the small human had not chosen that fight, and had no means of defending himself at all. He knew that he could not have borne it if Raf had died. Others had died, and Bumblebee grieved for them, as anyone mourns for friends and family lost to violence. He even felt an amount of survivor's guilt, because some of them had died suffering the same torture Bumblebee had managed to endure. Some had also been broken by it, and that led him to further question the statement about being tested. It seemed to him that people being broken under torture was proof that the statement was false.

It certainly seemed like a lie just now. Thinking that was easier than the alternative, which was that he was failing a test he should be able to pass. It was easier and less painful to think that this was unfair, that he couldn't be expected to handle this any better than he was, than to think that he was simply not trying hard enough to be strong. Neither felt good, but one was worse than the other.

But he felt no peace about resigning himself to defeat, and not only because that was a positive. It was almost like his own mind was turning on him. Even the absence of the internal conflict would be better than this. Every time he tried to settle on giving up and admitting this was too miserable and accepting the fact that he should just put himself in stasis and be done with it, a niggling doubt would crop up. What if he was just giving up prematurely? What if he really could survive this, but only if he was willing to try? The thought gave him no hope, only a deeper sense of despair, because it denied him rest, the want for which was almost entirely consuming him. Just to rest. Was that too much to ask?

Smokescreen seemed to have no such difficulty, and settled into recharging his power reserves without any hesitation. Somehow, Bumblebee didn't think it was because he had given up, resigned himself. Despite his earlier stumble, Smokescreen seemed to have less trouble coping once he found his bearings.

While Bumblebee felt like a ship caught in a brutal meteor storm, being jarred first one way and then another, taking damage from all directions, Smokescreen seemed to have found a clear way through. Bumblebee wondered what Smokescreen had that he didn't.

He knew that it sure wasn't patience, whatever it was. Bumblebee had never considered himself an especially patient bot, but the arrival of Smokescreen had been a real wake up call. He could see himself in Smokescreen or -more accurately- the bot he'd once been. Zero patience, no self control, a tendency to do the most dangerous things in the most reckless way possible, emphasizing flash over function... but that wasn't who Bumblebee was anymore. Experience had made a wiser Autobot of him.

There was a time when he would have resented his status as a Scout instead of a Warrior, just as Smokescreen felt bitter about not having a graduation ceremony. But Bumblebee had come to understand that there were things -a whole damned universe, in fact- more important than his ego.

However, whatever doubts Bumblebee had about himself, he did not believe that a lack of obsession with his own coolness was a weakness. If anything, putting the others first helped him to objectively assess his own value, and reduced his levels of self pity. There was more to valuing one's existence than repeatedly informing themselves that they were special and unique and deserved the best. In fact, those statements had a way of causing a lot of damage to others when taken to extremes.

But if it wasn't that, then what was it that Smokescreen _did_ have?

Bumblebee half considered shaking Smokescreen awake and demanding to know how he could be so damned calm all of a sudden. But he didn't, less because he was worried about disturbing Smokescreen's rest, and more because he might not like the answer when he heard it.

Unable to take the silence and darkness anymore, Bumblebee walked out of the base, quietly avoiding Arcee, who seemed to think she was keeping an eye on him and Smokescreen to make sure they didn't go wandering off again. Bumblebee didn't intend to go far, but he also didn't especially want company.

Conversations with Arcee and Bulkhead were becoming increasingly awkward, and Bumblebee didn't especially want company just now. To be more accurate, he would have welcomed company, if not for the social difficulty of having it. He could have used Raf's company just now, but 2AM was hardly the time to call him. Besides, Bumblebee didn't know what he would even say.

'Help me, I'm being swallowed by the amorphous nothing inside me and I'm not sure I remember why I'm fighting it anymore' didn't seem like an especially fair conversation starter.

Wearily, he looked up at the sky, the deep post-midnight blue of it, all the stars, little pinpoints of light in the dark. Like any good Scout, Bumblebee could use the stars to tell him where he was. One of the first things he'd done when they landed on Earth was to memorize the way the stars looked. He already knew their positions. If you knew the stars, you could find your way to any place in the universe. Bumblebee knew the stars, perhaps better than any human ever would. He could have drawn directions back to Cybertron while locked in stasis. And yet, all he felt when he looked up at the sky just now, was utterly lost and completely alone. Where was home?

Bumblebee found his restlessness had brought him to the grave marker for Cliffjumper. It was a place he seldom went. Cliffjumper had been Arcee's partner, Bumblebee had been something of an outsider; to use Earth terminology, he'd been like an obnoxious and troublesome younger brother who wouldn't leave his older siblings alone. They were Warriors, and he'd aspired to be like them, he'd admired them and sought to imitate them; usually with disastrous results.

Thinking back, he suspected that they'd probably gotten into trouble more than once for not looking out for him, or not keeping him in check. They were more experienced, and it was their responsibility to make sure that he learned what they knew and didn't get hurt or hurt anyone in the process.

He remembered the day Smokescreen had blown past him, ignoring the speed limit, and then revealed himself to a human. He remembered the dressing down Optimus had given them and seemingly Bumblebee in particular, being as he'd been there. He remembered resenting being rebuked more than Smokescreen, who was the one who'd actually misbehaved. Now, in hindsight, after Optimus pointed out that Smokescreen didn't know any better because nobody had bothered to teach him, Bumblebee wondered if Cliffjumper and Arcee had received similar scoldings.

 _{Did you resent it as much as I did?}_ he wondered aloud.

He didn't expect an answer. Even though he'd come here wanting to feel somewhat less alone, he knew Cliffjumper wasn't here. Cliff was dead, and the grave marker didn't even show where his body had been lost. It was just a marker, a visible reminder of what had been lost, nothing more. Of course, even if there had been a body there, it really wouldn't have made any difference. The spark was gone, leaving only an empty shell.

Bumblebee sat on the ground beside the marker, drawing his knees to his chest and staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. He decided there was probably nothing more pathetic than trying to relieve loneliness by talking to an empty grave. But he did it anyway.

 _{I don't know why I came up here. Even if you were here, even if you were alive, it's not like you'd have any answers. Everybody keeps looking at me like I'm this stranger they don't know how to talk to. Like they're terrified I might break if they say one wrong word. And I don't know, maybe I will,}_ he sighed, frustrated by the lack of an answer, even though he'd known there wouldn't be one when he started talking, _{You were a Warrior, Cliff. If you were here now, maybe you could tell me how you kept fighting when you had nothing left, because that's where I am.}_

There was, of course, no answer. He hadn't expected one. But he hadn't realized until his words were met by silence just how badly he needed to hear an answer. But there was none. Only silence.


	15. Chapter 15

Smokescreen didn't feel like getting up in the morning. Possibly he wouldn't have, but his light stasis was interrupted by what sounded like everybody losing their minds. He opened his eyes and listened quietly, recognizing the voices of Arcee and Bulkhead, and then registering what had them so upset.

"Where's Bumblebee?" Arcee was asking.

"You're asking me? I thought you were watching him."

"I thought I was too, but he's nowhere in the base. I looked. Twice."

"Well, where would he go?"

"In his right mind under the circumstances? Nowhere."

"Who said anything about his 'right mind'?"

Smokescreen tuned them out. It seemed to him that they were getting awfully worked up over nothing. Bumblebee was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Hadn't he proven that yesterday when he'd talked Smokescreen himself back from the edge? That they wouldn't trust Smokescreen to look out for himself made sense, he hadn't exactly done much to earn that (yet). But Bumblebee? Didn't they have faith in _anybody's_ ability to watch out for themselves? Unbelievable.

Smokescreen himself wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten so far down the day before that suicide looked like a good idea. Even as low as he felt just now, he knew it wasn't, and couldn't entirely believe he'd almost done it, had been eager to even. But he did remember how he'd felt just then, and found it equally as surprising that Bumblebee managed to talk him out of it as it was that he'd been contemplating it seriously in the first place. Smokescreen knew better than that.

He rolled that thought over in his mind, and was disturbed by the doubt he uncovered. Not in himself. He _did_ know better. Bumblebee hadn't even really said anything he didn't already know.

Smokescreen had chosen to train as an Elite Guard as the darkest hour of Cybertron was approaching. The Autobots had been losing badly, even then the planet itself had been dying. It didn't seem like one Autobot more or less could make that much difference in the end, but Smokescreen had felt a calling, a pull inside him, that seemed like the universe speaking to him with one voice.

 _This you must do._

Even then, Smokescreen had believed in destiny. He'd signed up, and thrown his all into becoming the best soldier he could be. He'd described the training as little more than a boot camp, but he hadn't mentioned that his instructors had been disheartened and disabled warriors who could no longer fight, and had almost no faith left in the Autobots' chances for success. To get anything out of training, a cadet had to be profoundly self-motivated. Smokescreen didn't need to be prodded into action, driven to succeed instead of giving up, pushed to continue when the training got hard.

No matter how many times he missed his target, how many times he slipped and fell, how many times he got knocked down and pinned, Smokescreen never doubted that he had a destiny, and that it lay in becoming an Elite Guard. Even when he eventually graduated and got shipped off to nowhere in particular, he hadn't felt any doubt about himself. He'd wondered why destiny had brought him to a backwater when he'd worked so hard to become a skilled fighter and learned all he could about tactics so that he could hopefully someday become a strategist. Why would he need all those skills, having gotten one of the most well-rounded educations of any Elite Guard graduate by volunteering for any and all types of training available, if he was just going to be put on a shelf? He'd wondered why, yes. But actual doubts about his destiny? Never.

The doubt he felt now wasn't that he might have been wrong. Even yesterday, he hadn't so much doubted his destiny, as been afraid of where it was taking him, too scared to face it. To deny something wasn't the same as doubting its existence. What he doubted now was his initial assessment that Bumblebee could take care of himself.

Bumblebee should be able to do just that. But, in this context, so should Smokescreen. He had one of the most powerful reasons to live, belief in a future and purpose for himself. After the chain of events that had led here, Smokescreen had even stopped wondering if maybe the hand of destiny had forgotten about him and needed help getting him there. He'd come to accept that his interference was not required. He'd be moved as destiny would have it, his only job was to accept where he was and do the best he could with whatever he was given, no matter where he was put.

Smokescreen realized his initial thought had been a lazy one. He simply hadn't wanted to be bothered. Guilt flashed through him, that he would prefer to selfishly sit around and do nothing when Bumblebee could be doing anything just now, including ending his existence. Fear followed the guilt.

What if Bumblebee needed help, and the minutes Smokescreen had wasted being irritated by the other Autobots' concern meant he would be too late to save his comrade?

Smokescreen transformed, gunned his engine and drove out of the base. Nobody took any notice of him, they were busy looking for Bumblebee or -in the case of Ratchet- concerned with finding the cure.

 _No wonder Autobots could never hold onto their prisoners_ , Smokescreen thought, remembering the military history he'd learned (mostly from Alpha Trion).

It was obvious that, though the other Autobots knew Bumblebee better under normal circumstances, just now Smokescreen was the one who understood him best. While the others were looking without finding, Smokescreen located Bumblebee in the first place he looked.

Smokescreen had never met Cliffjumper, and never been to the grave site either. But he had once asked why Arcee went off in this direction when she seemed down. In fact, it was Bumblebee who'd told him what was over here. Smokescreen hesitated as he neared the site, feeling like an intruder.

True, he was an Autobot. But he didn't know Cliffjumper. He had no business visiting the grave of someone he had never met. And he certainly had no business interrupting someone he barely knew visiting the grave site of a stranger to him. But he had gotten the idea that Bumblebee might be in some kind of trouble, and might need him, and so he had to go on.

As quietly as possible, he transformed back into his robot form, and approached the site. He'd never been to a grave site before, and wasn't sure how to act. Though he understood the tragedy that was the loss of life, the fact that he'd never been near a grave site was an unpleasant reminder that he'd been kept out of the war. True, it was that isolation that had led to the chain of events that eventually brought him here to Earth, where he was now serving under Optimus (usually a source of great joy to him, but now it was more an oppressive fear of failure, not being able to ever be good enough to satisfy the Prime). But his inexperience with death and violence and suffering made him an outsider among the few Autobots left. He felt a bit guilty about envying them their pain, but the truth was that he'd have given anything to fit in better with them, to not be an outsider.

With these uneasy thoughts in mind, Smokescreen approached the grave marker for Cliffjumper, a Warrior he'd never known, and which the others seemed reluctant to speak of. They were actually a pretty closed bunch, reluctant to talk about the battles they'd fought in, the bots they'd known.

 _I wish I knew something about you so I could say something,_ Smokescreen thought.

Then he turned from the marker to where Bumblebee sat, facing away from him, by all evidence unaware of his presence. Bumblebee was sitting on the rocky ground, staring off at the sunrise. Smokescreen hesitated to approach him. Maybe Bee wanted to be left alone.

 _You're just scared that you'll say something stupid,_ he rebuked himself, and went forward.

Without saying anything, he sat down beside Bumblebee and watched the sun rise the rest of the way above the horizon. As he was beginning to try and think of something to say, to explain his presence here, Smokescreen spotted something in the sky, a black shape sweeping from the bands of gold and pink, up higher to where the sky was turning its brilliant daylight blue.

It was a bird. As it moved away from the sun, its deep mahogany color became clear, the edges of its wings looking to be tinged with gold by the sunlight. By Earth standards, it was huge, with a wingspan as long as a human was tall. But, more than its size, Smokescreen was mesmerized by its existence.

"Jack was right," Smokescreen murmured, not entirely aware of having spoken aloud.

 _{Right about what?}_ Bumblebee asked, evidently more aware of Smokescreen than he'd let on.

The broken tone of his voice distracted Smokescreen from the bird. He looked at Bumblebee directly for the first time since coming up here. Dejected didn't even begin to cover it. He knew now that he'd been right; Bumblebee did need help.

"He said the desert wasn't empty. You just had to look hard enough," Smokescreen pointed to the bird soaring overhead, "I've never seen one of those here before."

 _{You haven't been here long,}_ Bumblebee reminded him, _{I don't know about everywhere, but golden eagles are a pretty common sight near the base.}_

"My point exactly," Smokescreen said, "They may be common, but I haven't looked hard enough to see one the whole time I've been here. I didn't think anything lived this far out in the desert."

He didn't mention that he also had no idea what a golden eagle was. His lack of Earth knowledge was obvious enough without his drawing attention to it.

 _{Raf studied birds for a school project,}_ Bumblebee said without being prompted, _{Specifically eagles. We did a lot of driving around looking for them so he could watch them.}_

Smokescreen couldn't imagine driving around looking at birds.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, after an appropriate length of silence had fallen between them to change the subject, "The others are looking everywhere for you."

 _{Obviously not,}_ Bumblebee replied, without answering the question.

Smokescreen wanted to press him into answering the question, but he didn't know how. Bumblebee, perhaps more than any of the others, had a way of keeping him off balance. One minute he could be carefree and reckless as a rookie, the next he seemed more weighted by the burdens of time and experience than even the old medic, Ratchet. He was a Scout by rank and function, but he fought and talked like a Warrior. His vehicle mode spoke of a tendency to favor and emphasize speed, but his way of fighting was very often based in strength, despite the fact that he was far smaller than Optimus or Bulkhead. Every time Smokescreen thought he had Bee pinned down, the Scout would say or do something that was totally unexpected. Smokescreen liked to think he was decent at reading bots, but lately he seemed to be always making the wrong move despite his best efforts.

While Smokescreen scrambled around in his own head, trying to figure out the right approach for Bumblebee, the Scout had evidently been gathering himself for a question of his own.

 _{How are you holding up?}_

It sounded like Bee was asking Smokescreen if he was alright after what happened yesterday. But Smokescreen read the undercurrent of desperation in the words. Bumblebee meant the question exactly as he'd phrased it. It was not a question Smokescreen had ever thought about how to answer before.

How was he holding together? He sensed it was very important that he figure out how to answer the question. But he realized that he didn't entirely know. He'd thought about it, but finding the words to explain it suddenly seemed very difficult, and it took him a number of seconds.

"Faith, I guess," he replied finally.

 _{Faith?}_

"Yeah. Look, I get that you don't believe in destiny, you think I'm just being idealistic. I can see it whenever you and the others look at me if I start talking about it. But I do. And I've got faith that this is somehow a part of it. But I've also got faith in something else, something maybe you _can_ believe in."

 _{Like?}_

"My fellow Autobots. Hey, don't roll your eyes at me. You asked," Smokescreen said, then paused to calm himself, "You guys are all amazing. The things you know, the things you can do. I'd be a fool not to have any faith in your abilities. Ratchet's going to find a cure for us. I know it. Just like I know it was destiny that brought me here to Earth."

 _{Faith?}_ Bumblebee repeated, sounding skeptical.

"Faith," Smokescreen repeated with certainty.

When Bumblebee seemed to be wrestling with that idea, Smokescreen decided to pressure him a little bit, to help him to accept the notion. It didn't matter whether or not it was true, what he said, but Smokescreen realized it was important for Bumblebee to believe it just now.

"It's not any less tangible than courage," Smokescreen pointed out, "Maybe one alone could be torn down, but taken together, what could possibly knock down that defense?"

 _{Faith,}_ Bumblebee repeated thoughtfully, _{and courage.}_

"Exactly."

Bumblebee shook his head, _{It's not easy.}_

"Who promised you life would be easy?" Smokescreen asked.

Bumblebee made a burring noise that didn't quite qualify as a word, but definitely sounded of agreement.

"C'mon," Smokescreen said quietly, standing up and holding out a hand for Bumblebee, "The others are probably looking for both of us by now. Maybe we should go tell them to have a little faith in us."

Wordlessly, Bumblebee accepted his hand.


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh don't look at me like that," Knockout snapped, then added sarcastically, "I'm sorry I didn't have any time to improve the device's appearance, but surely you're not so shallow as to judge it by that."

Soundwave, of course, said nothing. Nevertheless, his silences were deeply expansive and expressive; in this particular one he managed to convey deep suspicion and spark-felt revulsion and disgust towards both Knockout and the object he held. Knockout knew full well what it looked like. It looked like a a television satellite dish attached to the power supply and handle of an electric drill. There was a perfectly good reason for this. The reason being that the electric drill tool's housing proved perfect for the jumble of wires and chips and other bits that made up the device Knockout had just invented.

He realized that the look of a piece of Earth technology slapped onto a barbaric medical tool which hadn't been put to medicinal use for eons was disconcerting. He realized it was hideous. He also realized that none of that was his fault. He couldn't be blamed for any part of this catastrophe. In fact, he distinctly recalled warning Decepticons and Autobots alike to not fire in the vicinity of the NIWE device. This ugly contraption in his hands was the consequence of everyone ignoring him.

But he couldn't very well tell Soundwave that.

Instead, he said, "Oh don't be so sensitive. Of course it hasn't been tested. Who would I test it on? Myself? I'm the scientist around here. If this backfired, then who would be left to come up with another solution if I'd been trying it on myself? Now quit scowling and get over here."

Of course, Soundwave had no visible expression, but his scowl was a thing felt rather than seen. Soundwave did come over to where Knockout was waiting, but the generalized disdain for everything and everyone in sight radiating from him did not cease. Knockout didn't like to touch any Decepticon when they were in such a mood, even though it was in everyone's best interest that he continue to function. Suppression of violent urges was not a high priority in the Decepticon army, nor was there any rule against shooting the messenger (or whoever happened to be readily available).

Knockout's main protection against this was not to be inoffensive, but indispensable. He had an array of skills which, as Megatron had told him many times of late, could not be easily replaced. He was also the bot who repaired any Decepticon that became injured. Nobody wanted to get on his bad side, and that included even Megatron. However, of late, Megatron had been less rational and more inclined to take his anger out on any and every available target. Even Knockout had suffered because of his frustrated attempts to defeat the Autobots, and Optimus Prime in particular.

But if Megatron's new resting state was less than rational, Soundwave's had to be almost wholly irrational. After all, the slow, methodical dissection of vehicons was hardly a sane activity, and even had to lose its entertainment appeal after awhile; at which point it was just a way of passing time. Knockout didn't especially want to become more interesting than the vehicons.

Delicately, he reached out and removed the armband from Soundwave. He cringed, anticipating a reaction. Realizing none was forthcoming, he sighed and put down the disabled armband on the table next to him. Soundwave's disdain seemed to expand, and Knockout got the feeling that the silence was now telling him to not be such a wobbly wheel and get on with it.

"You want to do this yourself?" Knockout demanded, being answered with silence as always, "Then stop looking at me like a hungry scraplet. It's very distracting."

He knew his sense of self preservation must be reaching an all-time low.

After fiddling a few settings on his device, Knockout applied the dish end of it to Soundwave's chest, just above where Laserbeak was attached. Cringing as he did so, Knockout pulled the trigger that activated it. Blue light shone through the gaps in the housing, and a quiet humming noise came from the device as it powered up. A soft zap told of the gathered energy firing into Soundwave, who jerked with the feel of the newly injected energy and modified energon which was the carrier for it. Fragments of the blue light caught on Soundwave's chest plate and scattered across his surface, then gradually dissipated. Knockout sighed, wishing he felt some relief that his device seemed to have worked so far.

He took a step back, counting down the time he'd estimated it would take for the shot to have its effect. During that time, Soundwave remained utterly motionless, offering absolutely no indication as to whether Knockout's invention was having anything like its desired effect or not.

At the same instant that the time ran out, a tentacle snapped out from Soundwave's body and latched onto Knockout's throat, yanking him off his feet and slamming him into the wall hard enough to rattle his central processor and optics. His vision swam as he grabbed onto the tentacle and tried to pull it away, an action as instinctive as it was utterly futile.

"Soundwave," he gasped, "Soundwave, what are you doing?"

Soundwave's head cocked slightly, and a second tentacle rose from behind him, its drilling function activated.

"Soundwave, no! Please, don't!" Knockout was frantic now, too frightened to even be surprised at the discovery that his self preservation instinct wasn't completely dulled after all, "Please! It may take some... some time! Time to take effect! Soundwave, wait!" Knockout closed his eyes as the tentacle drew even with his forehead and hovered there, a whining sound emanating from it.

Then, just as suddenly as he'd attacked, Soundwave ceased and desisted. The gripping tentacle released, the one with the drill withdrew in tandem with it. Choking, Knockout dropped to the floor on his knees, clutching at his neck and then his head to reassure himself that he was all there.

There he remained, trembling with fright, as Soundwave turned and stalked out of the lab.

 _Well,_ he thought, discouraged even through his settling panic, _I think we can call that a colossal failure._

* * *

"Come on, Smokescreen."

Smokescreen looked at Arcee in evident puzzlement and asked, "Where we goin'?"

"Just because you feel like sulking, that's no excuse to shirk patrol duty," Arcee replied.

To his credit, Smokescreen's eyes narrowed with suspicion about Arcee's true motives, then he shrugged and followed her from the base. He was smart enough to know that he wasn't just casually being brought on patrol, but was either trusting or indifferent enough not to argue. Arcee paused just long enough to be sure that Bulkhead and Raf were engaging Bumblebee's attention, then she transformed and led the way from the base; Smokescreen followed her.

Collectively, the bots and children had decided that Bumblebee and Smokescreen needed to be distracted. She didn't know what Bulkhead and Raf had in mind to keep Bumblebee occupied, but the easiest and most obvious means of distracting Smokescreen was to drag him out on patrol.

Earth was still new to him, all the sights and sounds of it were novelties. For Bumblebee, it had become what Agent Fowler would call "old hat", but a good long patrol in the great outdoors was bound to be something of a sensory overload for the rookie, who couldn't possibly mope and keep track of traffic signals at the same time. Besides, nothing could clear a mind like a long drive.

Maybe she couldn't make him feel better, but at least she could distract him from how bad he felt.

While it was true she found Smokescreen egotistical and almost insufferably idealistic, Arcee didn't enjoy seeing him miserable and suffering. And she was well familiar with enduring pain in silence, and knew what that looked like. Both Bee and Smoke were doing their best to put on a brave face, possibly as much for themselves as anyone around them, but the fake smiles and false assurances that they were alright were almost more painful than if they'd put their grief on display for all to see.

Arcee had planned their route carefully, to cover as much distance as quickly as possible. She intended to have Smokescreen out the whole day, covering open empty areas, driving through towns and cities, seeing as many different types of things as was possible. She'd gotten Optimus' approval, though he expressed doubt about the chances of her plan succeeding. If Ratchet found a cure, they could be bridged back any time.

Arcee hadn't known Smokescreen for long, but a great many things were obvious about him, not the least of which was his craving for high speeds and almost any variety of excitement he could find. Seeing him following her now, driving only as fast as he absolutely had to in order to keep up, Arcee felt the same doubts Optimus had expressed. He'd warned her that a sunny day and a long drive would do very little good for someone who could experience the beauty of neither.

She wondered if this might be a mistake, that she might somehow be making things worse. But she was committed now, and could not reasonably just change her mind about a patrol without making it totally obvious that this activity was just an excuse to get Smokescreen to do something besides sit in a corner like a useless lump. And the last thing he needed was to have her draw attention to the fact that his attempts to pretend he was fine were failing miserably.

 _Nobody warned me when I joined the Autobots that I'd have to become a psychologist and babysitter_ , she thought, and then accelerated to force Smokescreen to increase his own speed to keep up.

He did, at least at first. Then, abruptly, he slowed down, then stopped entirely. For a terrified instant, Arcee thought he'd shut himself down, then she realized one of his side mirrors was tilted up. Tilting her own mirror, she caught sight of a large bird wheeling high over head in a lazy circle. It was probably a vulture, and she couldn't for a moment see why that should interest Smokescreen.

However, she would take what she could get. If he wanted to sit in the road and watch vultures, at least it was better than doing nothing. Still, she eventually couldn't contain the curiosity any longer.

"Taking up bird watching?" She inquired, trying to feign indifference while secretly dying to know what it was that had him so riveted by the sight of a bird in the sky.

"Hmm?" his mirror twitched, "No. I just... got distracted. Sorry."

Arcee consulted a downloaded map she stored internally, and decided to change the planned route. If Smokescreen was interested in wildlife, she knew exactly where she should take him. Somewhere there was a lot more to see than just vultures. One of the great things about being Autobots, most animals weren't frightened of them if they stayed still and quiet. Lately, Smokescreen had been doing quite a lot of both those things. Arcee wouldn't have pegged him for a nature lover, but she wasn't about to question it.

"Well don't just sit there," Arcee said, "We've got a long way to go.

Smokescreen shifted gears as he asked, "And... where are we going, exactly?"

"You'll see," Arcee replied cryptically.

* * *

"I don't understand why it didn't work," Knockout muttered to himself, skimming his notations on the NIWE, and the device he'd designed to nullify its effects.

Everything seemed to be in order, but Soundwave's response had been anything but encouraging. Double checking his work from the first note to the last, Knockout could not find the place where he might have gone wrong. He could think of no change he might make that could improve the device's functioning.

"It _should_ have worked," Knockout insisted, though it was as if he were arguing with the universe itself, because there was no one else around to disagree with him, "Why didn't it? _Why_? I don't understand."

In a more stable frame of mind, Knockout would have sat back to contemplate what he was seeing. In a more stable frame of mind, he'd have gone off and done something else, taken his focus away from the problem so he could look at it again later with a fresh view point. He'd made more discoveries while polishing his paint job or going out for a joy drive than he ever had sitting in a lab and staring at a puzzle which refused to piece itself together. But he was not in a good frame of mind.

He was frustrated by his failure, and despairing of his chances at finding any solution.

Though it was not a rational thing to do, Knockout abruptly turned his device on himself. Pulling the trigger, he felt the jolt of electrical current, and the flush of a small infusion of energon flow into him. With more care than necessary, he laid the device gently on the table and stepped back from it.

And then he waited.

For an interminable number of seconds, he felt no change. Then, gradually, he experienced a tingling in his extremities that said his concoction had spread almost entirely through his system. It was the only change he noticed. He waited another long moment, but nothing seemed to be happening.

In a fit of frustration, he swept his arm across the top of his table, knocking the armbands and cure device from it. They clattered to the floor. Unconsciously growling, Knockout went over and stepped on them. His irrational rage mounting, he began to jump up and down on the devices, shattering them to pieces. Turning to the monitor on which his notes were displayed, he ripped it from its mounting, lifted a leg and broke it across his knee, then threw the two pieces against the wall. In a real fury now, he stomped over and kicked the broken pieces, then leaned down to pick one of them up. He crushed it in his hands, and hurled it against the far wall, which it bounced off of.

Turning to the cleared table, he grabbed onto its edge. It was bolted to the floor, but he ripped it clean out and flipped it over. It went crashing into a collection of monitors (one of which he'd put his fist through earlier), and they shattered, showering sparks everywhere.

Having destroyed everything in his near vicinity, Knockout stood in the center of the room. He was panting, his hands clenched into tight fists, swinging his head from one side to the other in search of something else he could vent his fury on.


	17. Chapter 17

Smokescreen had never seen a lake before. At least, not one made of water. Intellectually, he'd known that large bodies of water had to exist. All that rain had to wind up somewhere. Though rain was something of a novelty to him, he understood water and its properties. But knowing that lakes existed and actually seeing one were two different things. The most stunning thing for him was its size.

Cybertronians dwarfed most things on Earth. Even the soaring redwoods weren't really _that_ big by comparison. Cybertronians were just too big for this world. But the lake Arcee had brought him to was huge. He'd never seen anything like it. He wondered if, under normal circumstances, he would even have bothered to notice it; typically he was too absorbed in trying to impress the other Autobots, fighting Decepticons and thinking about fighting Decepticons to notice much of anything else.

There seemed to be a lot of campsites and people and boats out on the lake, but there was more water than even the humans had a hope of managing to completely obscure. Arcee had slowed down to give Smokescreen time to absorb, but she didn't stop entirely. She wanted to show him a spot Cliffjumper had discovered during a patrol, where she hoped he would see something that would really startle him. If he couldn't appreciate the beauty of the lake, at the very least he seemed awed by its size.

Arcee preferred it when there weren't as many humans around, but there were a lot of people here at this time of year, so the two Autobots would have to maintain their disguise as they explored the area surrounding the lake, or else find somewhere out of sight. It was strange, she'd really never appreciated the beauty of this place before. She'd been too busy missing the home she'd left behind, the friends who'd died, the world she might never see again, and at the time had no hope of trying to revive.

She couldn't believe how much time she'd wasted hating this place, finding reasons not to like it, intentionally being even more unhappy than she actually had to be. It was a hard habit to break once it was formed, because by then the misery had become comfortable and familiar. Changing seemed too hard, and she was afraid to hope it might be worth the effort. What if she tried to see things differently and found out that the glass half empty was the only reality she could exist in? What if it wasn't? That had been an even more terrifying prospect, that _she_ was the one making herself the most miserable.

The difference between her and Smokescreen was that he didn't seem to have the choice. Not that she'd realized at the time she was deciding to be miserable, and not that it had been easy to break free. But she at least _could_ decide. Smokescreen didn't have the option of being less miserable, his only choice seemed to be whether to endure it or simply give in to it.

Arcee didn't even want to imagine what might have happened to her if she hadn't been able to escape her own self-made prison, which she had blamed on war, on grief, on every misery she could think of (and she certainly had a long list of reasons to feel miserable). She still slipped back into it sometimes, but she was struggling to break free of her old self. She would never be a cheerful optimist, but she knew now that she did not have to be the bleakest of pessimists either. Not only that, but if she didn't change her way of thinking and being, then she wouldn't be able to survive. One day she'd wake up and find the fight had simply gone out of her.

She didn't want that.

"Whoa! What's that?" Smokescreen exclaimed, drawing Arcee out of her reverie.

She smiled internally, because that was the exact effect she'd been hoping it would have.

"That," she answered neutrally, "is a fish."

"A fish?" Smokescreen asked, "But I thought Miko said fish were food."

"Many humans do eat them," Arcee said, "But they're more than just food. They're also animals."

They had left the main body of the lake for a smaller stream. Brilliant vermillion colored fish were leaping and springing out of the water, fighting their way upstream. It was a sight unlike any you might see on Cybertron, and had the effect of stopping Smokescreen cold.

Arcee remembered when Cliff had told her that she "had to come and see this". She'd been impatient with him, wanting to know what he'd found, but he'd refused to tell her until she got there. She remembered her dumbfounded silence at the sight of something that actually _lived_ in water. Neither she nor Cliff had ever heard of anything like fish before. Even though by then they'd encountered many bodies of water, they hadn't ever noticed the fish, which usually weren't leaping out of it. They'd have been just as stunned to notice fish swimming in the water as leaping out of it. At first, Arcee thought the fish were trying to escape, but Cliff had been watching them longer and said they weren't.

The very idea of bodies of water had been a shock to absorb, but something _living_ in the water was another. Actually, even trees had been startling the first time she'd seen them. But the shock of trees, and the birds that nested in them, was nothing compared with the sight of salmon going upriver to spawn. To Cybertronians, there was nothing stranger to be found on Earth than fish.

"Look," Arcee said, tilting her mirror skyward.

She knew Smokescreen was too preoccupied with the fish to notice the large bird of prey, probably an osprey, leaving its high branch and flying out over the water.

Smokescreen, tearing his focus away from the fish, looked at the bird.

"What about it?" he asked, seeming confused about why she'd drawn his attention to it.

"Just watch," Arcee replied.

The bird swept down diagonally from where it had been perched. As it neared the water, it reoriented its body so that its head was down, its talons stretched forward, its wings almost folded up behind it as it plunged into a sharp dive. It hit the water with a slight splash, pulling up at the last possible second to keep its body mostly out of it. In its sharp claws, it had hooked a fish that looked almost as big as it was.

If there was anything more jarring to circuit boards than a fish, it was a fishing bird.

Smokescreen said nothing, just stared, and wondered if it would happen again.

* * *

Bumblebee seemed somewhat less than enthusiastic about Raf's "science project", but he was cooperatively paying attention and participating. Raf felt a little guilty about lying. He didn't actually have a project he was working on, but it was the only thing he could think of to keep Bumblebee occupied when Bulkhead's idea of a ball game fell flat and Bee expressed no interested in a racing video game. But helping Raf with his "advanced robotics assignment" wasn't something he could just ignore. The kids' guardians seemed to think it was their job to be teachers as much as protectors.

Of course, the "advanced robot" he was making was little more than a glorified kitchen helper, but the point was to keep Bee's mind off things. Bumblebee had less knowledge of robotics than Raf did. Just as humans knew almost nothing about their own anatomy, it turned out many Cybertronians had as much knowledge of their internal workings as the average human knew about heart surgery.

Bumblebee's ignorance was so far working in their favor, because it allowed Raf to present him with problems to solve. Raf's explanation for it was that he already pretty much knew this stuff, but somebody might as well learn something out of it. Bumblebee didn't argue with him. He seemed vaguely suspicious, but he didn't accuse Raf of just making all this up to keep him occupied.

Bulkhead was mostly there to make sure Bee didn't get frustrated and wander off. Bumblebee didn't say anything about his presence, but his silences could be as expressive as his vocalizations. He knew Bulkhead was keeping an eye on him. He didn't appear to mind that, and maybe it even made him less suspicious of Raf, not thinking that both of them would be trying to occupy his attention at the same time. Or maybe he just didn't have the energy to sort it out or care about it.

"Treads," Bulkhead remarked, "How quaint."

Raf proceeded to explain that, at the present level of technology on Earth, a robot of this design couldn't utilize two legs effectively. It was basically a box on treads so that its shape and weight could act as a balance for whatever its grabbers picked up, like a glass or a can.

"An egg is pretty lightweight," Raf continued, adjusting his glasses, "But getting the strength just right isn't going to be easy. It has to be strong enough to grip the egg without crushing it."

" _I_ can't," Bulkhead pointed out, "How do you expect to be able to build a robot that can with less advanced technology and no consciousness to tell it if it's holding something too hard?"

"You're a lot bigger than the robot we're building, and much more powerful. Even dialed all the way up, this robot wouldn't have the strength to lift a car, much less crush it or throw it."

Bulkhead glanced at Bumblebee as though expecting him to say something about how Bulk wasn't exactly the most delicate individual, but Bumblebee said nothing. Bulkhead was slightly disappointed. His question had been an attempt to engage Bumblebee more, but the Scout was having none of it. When Bulkhead looked at Raf, the boy merely shrugged and shook his head.

The two of them would have given just about anything for Bumblebee to voluntarily participate in social interaction in any capacity, even if it was poking fun at his team mate. But he didn't. He just sat there looking at the sketch of the two-foot high construct which was supposed to at some point begin to function as a robot. He didn't really seem to be seeing it, or anything else really.

Bulkhead and Raf looked at one another again. This didn't seem to be working.

"Why don't we take a break for awhile?" Raf suggested, "Maybe see what's on TV?"

"Sounds good to me," Bulkhead replied, a little too cheerfully, "How 'bout you, Bee?"

For a moment, Bumblebee didn't seem to realize he'd been addressed. Then he abruptly twitched and turned to look at Bulkhead, like he was having trouble processing what had been said to him.

 _{No thanks,}_ Bumblebee said finally, straightening up from the crouching position he'd been in, _{I think I'd like to be alone for a little while. Let me know if you need me.}_

"But-" Bulkhead broke off as Bee turned away and trudged off. Bulkhead turned to look at Raf, "Think we were too obvious?"

"Definitely," Raf replied.

* * *

Arcee, meanwhile, was having better luck keeping Smokescreen occupied. He wasn't getting any satisfaction out of his fascinated observation of the leaping fish and fishing birds, but he was drawing lines in his head, working out exactly how the birds rotated in the air to increase and decrease their speed as they fell upon the fish. He'd always had a passing interest in flying, but he wasn't built for it and had never had the time to study something just for the fun of it. He knew how to knock a flier out of the air, but that was about it. Of course, jets didn't make it so obvious what they were doing as the birds did. With the birds, it was obvious when they folded their wings and rotated their bodies in the air to either catch updrafts or dive like missiles towards the water, snapping into a new position at the last instant so they wouldn't crash. Sometimes they didn't quite succeed, and floundered in the water. Sometimes they missed the fish entirely if they weren't daring enough.

Arcee herself was getting a little bored, but she wasn't about to interrupt. She'd wanted Smokescreen occupied, now he was occupied. However, her own attention was wandering. And a good thing too, because it meant she heard the distinctive high-pitched whine of Laserbeak in flight before the minicon swept in over the trees and came to a hovering stop on the road in front of her.

"Laserbeak!" Arcee warned urgently.

It took a moment for Smokescreen to disengage himself from his observations, something that wouldn't normally have taken any time at all. As it was, while Arcee dove for cover, Smokescreen remained motionless for a critical instant, and the minicon was able to take a potshot at him.

"Yow! Hey!" Smokescreen shifted gears and backed up, twitching his mirrors to scan for any humans in sight. There thankfully didn't seem to be any.

That was one of the things Arcee liked best about this spot. It was one of the only spots along the lake and its adjoining rivers that rarely had human traffic.

The protesting, alarmed cry of one of the fishing birds was the only warning they had before both Autobots turned their mirrors to see that Soundwave was skimming just above the river, coming right for them. Arcee and Smokescreen launched themselves in opposite directions to dodge when Soundwave began firing on them. Laserbeak went after Smokescreen, while Soundwave adjusted his flight path to pursue Arcee, who transformed and brought her blasters to bear.

Smokescreen also transformed, but then something seemed to go wrong.

With a gasp of pain, he dropped to his knees. One hand hit the pavement, the other clutched at his chest. Arcee saw him fall. And she also saw Laserbeak sweep in for the kill.

"Smokescreen!"


	18. Chapter 18

Knockout was restrained by a couple of vehicons, but his eyes blazed murderous intent. Megatron didn't bother to rebuke him. It was clear the medic was completely out of his mind. The sounds of destruction in the lab had drawn attention. Knockout had managed to eviscerate a couple of vehicons before he was finally pinned to the deck. Normally, Knockout avoided physical confrontation, because such violence might scratch his paint. Of course, he didn't typically demolish his lab either.

Held by the vehicons, Knockout glared at Megatron, and then snarled at him, trying to lunge at the Decepticon leader. The vehicons strained to hold him, but they managed. Megatron didn't so much as flinch. He could obliterate Knockout easily, by doing little more than raise his hand. He had no real aversion to it, except that he valued the scientific skills of his medic, and the thought of trying to find a suitable replacement for him frankly filled Megatron with horror. He'd spent a long time building his army, and getting exactly the bots he needed to fill each position. He had Knockout because, annoying as he was, the flashy red Cybertronian was also every bit as good at his job as he boasted.

"Knockout, what have you done?" Megatron demanded, "Where is Soundwave?"

Knockout just growled at him, fighting the vehicons holding him. His struggling was futile without a mind. Without his mind, he was also useless to Megatron. Still, it was possible this was just another phase, rather like Soundwave's dismantling of vehicons had been. Possibly he had found a cure, or perhaps only thought he had, and this effect was only temporary. In any case, it wouldn't hurt to keep Knockout around for a little while longer. He could always be tossed overboard later if it seemed like the wiser thing.

"Keep him restrained," Megatron ordered, his voice cold, "Do not allow him to destroy anything else. If he becomes coherent, inform me immediately," he stalked out of the lab.

Knockout he could, perhaps, figure out how to do without (though he could never have operated the Forge to build the Dark Star Saber without the hand of a Prime; a hand which had been affixed to him by Knockout). But Soundwave was another matter. Soundwave, unlike any other Decepticon, could be trusted. Soundwave's loyalty had no price, his obedience was not purchased, and his services could not be bought by the enemies of Megatron or by any upstart in his own organization who might seek to overthrow him. Soundwave was utterly faithful, and completely reliable.

But Soundwave wasn't here now. Megatron wondered where Soundwave would even go. Knockout seemed to be indiscriminate in his destruction. Yet even a maddened Soundwave probably had some kind of method to his madness. Megatron remembered that Soundwave had been narrowing down the possible locations of the Autobot base. Since he wasn't aboard the _Nemesis_ , was it possible that Soundwave was out hunting Autobots instead? That seemed very likely.

Still, Megatron couldn't quite shake the almost uncanny feeling that Soundwave was in some kind of trouble, or that maybe he was destroying something he ought not.

* * *

Smokescreen felt the dizziness come on him in a sudden rush when he went into reverse, but the pain didn't hit until he transformed. Actually, it wasn't even pain really, just the feeling of being incredibly weak. The dizziness increased as he completed his transformation, to the point he couldn't even maintain his balance. He fell on his knees, feeling keenly the strain of trying to engage his weapons. He overrode the sequence, knowing it wouldn't do him any good, because there was no way in the world he could actually fire his weapons, much less hit anything.

He didn't really feel slow; it just seemed like the world was spinning too fast. And that was the other thing, he'd suddenly become consciously aware of the planet's rotation, and that jarring awareness made the throbbing dizziness in his head that much worse. Dimly, he knew Laserbeak was somewhere in the air, that the minicon was sweeping in closer and making a strafing run at him.

He wanted to shake his head and try to clear it, but he didn't have the time. The training that had been hammered into him what felt like almost yesterday but was really a great many years ago kicked in, taking over even as his brain seemed on the verge of shutting down. He dropped and rolled across the pavement. The motion made him feel more ill than he already did, but fortunately he had things like gravity and momentum to carry him once he initiated the roll, because otherwise he'd never have been fast enough. Even as it was, Laserbeak hit him more than once; but they were glancing blows and Smokescreen barely even felt them.

Smokescreen came to a graceless, crashing halt beside where Arcee had taken cover. She was firing at Soundwave as the Decepticon passed low overhead. In the seconds it took Soundwave to bank and turn back towards her for another run, Arcee turned to Smokescreen.

"Are you alright?"

"No," Smokescreen replied honestly, any sense of pride he might have long gone, "Arcee, I think I'm dying. I can feel it inside. Remember Ratchet said the spark gives out? I think it's happening now."

"You can't let it," Arcee said, pausing to fire at Laserbeak, who'd followed Smokescreen.

Smokescreen didn't respond to her, so she gave him a shake.

"Smokescreen, you can't cut out on me now! I can't fight Soundwave alone. I need you, soldier. Don't give up on me!" Arcee didn't get to extend her speech, because Soundwave was arcing back around.

It was obvious the Decepticon was toying with them. Not Soundwave's usual bag. Then again, it also wasn't his usual inclination to just randomly attack Autobots. Unless maybe this wasn't random. But -if it wasn't- Arcee couldn't even begin to guess what reason Soundwave had for attacking.

Smokescreen struggled to initiate the transformation that would allow him access to his weaponry. He grit his teeth and fought to find the energy he needed, and then just as hard to find the will to do it.

It wasn't just that he was dying, it was that he didn't feel a resistance to it. The love of life, the enjoyment of being, the excitement about what might happen if he just continued to exist, all of those things had abandoned him. All he could feel was the exhaustion and futility of trying to fight a Decepticon like Soundwave. He tried to gather himself by focusing on Arcee's words. She needed him. But he couldn't find it in himself to care. A part of him was desperate to survive, but it was just training, just the words of the Autobot code of conduct, without any of the substance to back it up.

"Arcee, I can't," Smokescreen said finally, shaking his head.

Arcee didn't respond. It was taking all her focus to fend off Soundwave and Laserbeak. But she was listening, and dove for a new position in the hopes that Soundwave and Laserbeak would follow her. It was almost as if she thought he'd said he needed time, not that he flat couldn't do it.

Watching her fight, putting everything she had into it while Soundwave seemed to only be playing with her, Smokescreen knew it was only a matter of time before the Decepticon threw an attack at her that she could not defend herself from. Smokescreen needed to do something.

He glared at his hand, trying to will it into changing form, trying to find the strength -both physically and psychologically- to make it happen. The transformation initiated, but then halted and failed. Smokescreen couldn't even remember the last time he'd failed to transform. Barring certain types of injury or extreme energon depletion, transformation sequences almost never derailed. But that's exactly what had just happened, and Smokescreen couldn't seem to get frustrated enough to fight it.

He closed his hand into a fist, realizing it was useless. _He_ was useless. He closed his eyes, preparing to wait for the end, knowing he wasn't strong enough. That what he had to work with simply was not enough. What Bumblebee had told him about courage rang through his head, the memory a cold accusation. But he was a fool to keep trying. And a coward to quit. There was no right answer.

A shot from Laserbeak knocked Arcee down. As Smokescreen watched, Soundwave swept toward her. In that same instant, Smokescreen's eyes fell on the phase shifter attached to his wrist. That too required energy from him to function, but far less. But could he render both himself and Arcee intangible? He didn't know. But he realized that he had to do something. He had to at least try.

Smokescreen dove for Arcee as Soundwave dipped in lower and opened fire. With his whole body, Smokescreen covered Arcee, protecting her from Soundwave's shots. He closed his eyes and held perfectly still, praying the phase shifter was functioning because he couldn't tell. Praying that he was protecting Arcee as well as himself, and that the shots would either strike him or go straight through and miss them both. Anything, so long as Arcee didn't get hurt because of him.

The crack of asphalt splintering apart under Soundwave's barrage was thunderous in Smokescreen's ears. It came closer, closer, and he heard the ground shudder with each impact. But then Soundwave was passing harmlessly over them. Smokescreen sat up and rotated so he could see the Decepticon coming back towards them. Smokescreen looked at his own hands, renewing the struggle to form them into weapons, to give him a means of fighting back.

"Come on!" Smokescreen yelled at his inert blasters, "Now would be a great time!"

As Soundwave continued to bear down on him, Smokescreen felt the stirrings of frustration, the fierce desire, the want, the _need_ to transform. The sequence initiated. It didn't flow, the shift was choppy. But it did work. Smokescreen had access to his blasters. He opened fire on Soundwave, who deftly dodged his shots and kept right on coming.

Then a shot sang past Smokescreen's right shoulder from behind. Soundwave -in the middle of dodging Smokescreen- blundered right into the shot Arcee had fired. It threw the Decepticon off course. Wobbling in the air and beginning to smoke from one wing, Soundwave was forced to veer off. But Laserbeak was right behind him, and ready to take his place. Arcee moved to engage.

But Smokescreen didn't join her. Suddenly his own words had come back to haunt him. Putting his weapons away, Smokescreen knew what he had to do. What he should have done before.

"Smokescreen to base," he spoke into his comm unit, "We are under attack. I say again, Arcee and I are being attacked by Soundwave. We're getting our tail pipes handed to us."

* * *

Bumblebee had realized he was finding it more and more difficult to focus on what Raf was saying. He'd felt a suspicion that Raf and Bulkhead were just trying to keep him occupied, but it took too much energy to try and suss it out, so he'd just let it go. It didn't really matter anyway. Bee had also felt the strain of just trying to pretend to be paying attention, until he finally couldn't take it anymore. When the suggestion of taking a break came up, he'd seized the opportunity to flee.

But it wasn't until he was by himself that he began to fully understand how bad it was. Objects were blurry, and he didn't feel steady on his feet. Forget walking and chewing gum (as the human phrase inexplicably went), he couldn't seem to see and stand up at the same time.

So he sank down against a wall, leaning his back against it for support. He felt the pulse of energon in his extremities, and it seemed uneven to him. Maybe he was just imagining it. Was he then also imagining the lightness in his head, like he wasn't getting enough energy flow to his brain? He tried shaking his head, but that only made things worse as the room promptly began to spin around him.

He'd never wished he could shield his optics and shut out visual input before, but he did now. The inability to stop looking at the whirling, blurry environment was disorienting. He didn't entirely realize he'd pitched forward, placing the flat of his hands against the floor, until his vision cleared for a moment. He realized now what was happening to him, remembering what Ratchet had told him about the effects of the NIWE device. He tried calling for help, but the muffled burring that issued forth didn't even form itself into words before he collapsed onto his side and watched helplessly as the lights went out and his consciousness fled. The last thing to go was the ragged sound of his spark beating unevenly. And then that too fell into darkness and was gone.


	19. Chapter 19

When Optimus and Bulkhead had first arrived, Soundwave had been just as enthusiastic about shooting at them as he'd been about Arcee and Smokescreen. His total lack of calculated caution was perhaps his saving grace in the apparently suicidal assault. The Autobots didn't expect him to fly right at them at reckless speed, and they certainly didn't expect it to happen repeatedly. Soundwave was supposed to make a difficult target of himself. His strategy in fighting was economical, efficient and varied. What he was doing now was wasteful, energy inefficient and repetitive. The Autobots simply couldn't believe it fast enough to take advantage of it.

Then Soundwave suddenly broke off. Laserbeak hovered in the air beyond range, while Soundwave flew in what seemed to be indecisive circles around the minicon. The Autobots could have advanced on him, but Optimus cautioned against it. Soundwave was too clever an opponent to leave himself open. It was too possible he was trying to lure them over to where he was circling, though none of them could begin to guess _why_ he would do that.

Suddenly, Soundwave recalled Laserbeak to him. Once his minicon was secured, the Decepticon fired his jets and blasted away from the battlefield, as if he'd suddenly remembered something very urgent that he needed to do somewhere else.

"Well that was odd," Bulkhead remarked dryly.

"When is Soundwave anything but odd?" Arcee inquired, crossing her arms.

A soft moan behind them reminded them that one among them wasn't doing so well. Smokescreen had managed to hold it together for the duration of the battle, but only just barely. Now he collapsed to his hands and knees. He was visibly trembling.

As easily and gently as he might have scooped up a human, Optimus picked up Smokescreen.

"Tell Ratchet to reopen the Ground Bridge," Optimus told Arcee, "And let him know we have a casualty."

"He's not a casualty," Arcee told him, "Smokescreen collapsed before the first shot hit him."

Optimus said nothing to that, merely waited for Arcee to call Ratchet, and for the Ground Bridge to activate. The moment it did, he strode through it, with Bulkhead and Arcee in tow. Smokescreen was quiet and still in his arms, almost unnaturally so.

While Optimus carried Smokescreen to the area they'd reconfigured into a med-bay, Arcee and Bulkhead stayed behind so they wouldn't be in the way. Arcee wrapped her arms around herself.

"I should never have taken him out of the base. This is my fault," she said.

"You couldn't have known," Bulkhead told her, "Soundwave always shows up unannounced. You can't predict what he'll do or when he's gonna do it."

Arcee shook her head, briefly closing her eyes, "But I did know Smokescreen could break down at any time. He shouldn't have been in the field. I should have known better."

"Optimus allowed it," Bulkhead reminded her, "And Smoke agreed to go."

"I didn't exactly give him an option," Arcee said, "I could have gotten him killed. Both of us, killed. And for what? So he could look at some birds?" she closed her eyes again, as if trying to shut out the guilt, "What good could it possibly do him to watch some birds dive for fish? It's not like knowing how to physically control his rate of descent could ever help him."

"You never know," Bulkhead shrugged, "I seem to remember a time we said the same thing about having humans around. But they've saved our hides a time or two."

Arcee knew he was just trying to make her feel better. She didn't, but she appreciated his effort, however clumsy it was. She patted his arm, and then went to watch Ratchet work to save Smokescreen's life. She couldn't help, and she knew watching wouldn't really make any difference, but she couldn't stand the idea of just standing around. Even if that's exactly what she would be doing, at least maybe she could kid herself into thinking she was seeing things through, as if by her very presence and will she could prevent Smokescreen from dying as so many others had.

It was a particularly pathetic self-delusion she knew, but she noticed that Bulkhead followed her.

* * *

"Oh, my head," Knockout moaned.

When he'd demanded that the vehicons let him go, they seemed to decide he was back to his normal self. One went off to inform Megatron, the other watched nervously as Knockout grasped both sides of his head with his hands and pressed, as if trying to restrain a bolt that had jiggled loose.

"What... what happened to my lab?" he asked vaguely, staring out of bleary optics at the wrecked room.

"You did," Megatron said from the open doorway.

"I?" Knockout's brow furrowed and he closed his eyes to shut out the abruptly painful bright lights, "I don't remember that. I remember... my cure failed. Soundwave became very... where is Soundwave?" Knockout dared to look around again, then closed his eyes once convinced Soundwave was absent.

"En route to the _Nemesis_ as we speak," Megatron replied, "And very contrite. It seems a side effect of your so-called cure was uncontrollable rage. Realizing what was happening to him, Soundwave had the forethought to leave the _Nemesis_ before he began destroying things," his narrowed eyes spoke the words he didn't say aloud: _If only certain medics had the same good sense._

"But he's... I mean I'm... we're..." Knockout had opened his eyes again, and waved his hand somewhat aimlessly as he struggled to find the words; then he became distracted by what he saw on that hand's surface "Ugh. I'm dusty. How revolting," he found a scratch mark on his lower arm and let out a disgusted shriek, "How could I have let this happen?! AH! And my paint's fading too!"

"You seem to be recovering nicely," Megatron observed dryly, then turned to the vehicon, "Inform me when he's done having his meltdown. I want information about what he did," specifically, he needed to know if the cure was permanent and complete.

But the chances of Knockout saying anything of import while in his present state were not good. Megatron didn't have to like it, but even he had to make allowances for Knockout's obsession with his personal appearance. He'd once tried forcing Knockout to work before effecting cosmetic maintenance, and the result was haphazard, slap-dashed work. Oh well, at least Soundwave was coming back. Maybe he would finally return to his important decoding work, and also the job of keeping the _Nemesis_ away from prying eyes. It seemed as if all of the Decepticon's operations simply fell completely apart without Soundwave doing his job.

* * *

By the time Arcee joined Optimus standing vigil in the med-bay, Smokescreen had been laid on a table and connected to various tubes and cables, the purpose of which Arcee was only vaguely aware of. Medicine had never been her field, even the first aid she'd been taught in basic training mostly hadn't stuck with her. She wasn't sure if she was more scared by the readings she understood or the ones she didn't.

It took her a moment to realize that the reason she didn't recognize some of what she was seeing was because she was looking at fragments of an incomplete invention. Ratchet hadn't devised a cure, but he was using what he'd learned so far to try and prevent Smokescreen from crashing entirely.

While Optimus maintained his distance, Arcee felt drawn to come stand beside the table. From that distance, she could hear that Ratchet was muttering as he worked. At first Arcee thought he was talking to himself, but then she began to understand the words.

"Come on, Smokescreen. Help me. You've got to fight. I can't save you if you won't try."

Without even thinking, Arcee reached out and touched Smokescreen's arm in a place that a tube hadn't been attached. She hesitated, half-afraid he would break if she touched him.

"Come on, kid," she whispered, "You're the one always going on about his destiny. You think you're fated to help defeat the Decepticons. Heck, you probably think you could do it all on your own. Well, Smokescreen, you can't do that if you're dead. Ratchet's fighting for you. But what are you doing? You're a soldier, trained to be an Elite Guard. You can't give up now. You've got to fight. If you really believe destiny brought you here, then don't you want to know why, what you're really here for?" she paused, then almost reluctantly added, "Because I do. _We_ do. You're one of us now, and we need you."

She looked up to realize that Ratchet had been watching her. Her shoulders fell and she shook her head. Smokescreen had been out ever since the end of the fight with Soundwave. He couldn't possibly hear her. Even if he could, what difference would that make?

* * *

Smokescreen could hear her. He could hear them all. As if over a feeble radio signal, he heard Ratchet make his plea for help, Arcee issue her demands that he keep fighting. He heard the reassuring rumble of Optimus' voice as the Prime spoke words of encouragement to Ratchet, urging him to keep trying. He heard Bulkhead speaking to Optimus, an indirect request for reassurance. He heard them all, but they were so far away. So far away, in that world of fear, pain, struggle, exhaustion. The world that had become so cold in recent days. Here he was numb. Here he felt nothing at all, not even the desire to feel. Here he was free. He didn't want to listen to them. He didn't _want_ them to bring him back.

Unbidden and unwanted, there came the words Bumblebee had spoken not so long ago.

" _We were built to be courageous. You are an Autobot, made to be courageous. So be courageous now. Prove now, here, today, that you are the Autobot that you have told us you are."_

Bumblebee? Where was Bumblebee? Smokescreen's mind latched onto that absence, the emptiness in the room. He'd heard all the voices. All except for one. Where was that one? Where was the missing?

Smokescreen didn't want to wake up.

But, almost against his will, his mind made the connection. He had fallen. Bumblebee must have also. But nobody was concerned about Bumblebee right now. Right now, they were all talking to Smokescreen. And the longer they were thinking about him, the longer it would take them to even find out Bee was missing. And they would not stop being worried about him until he stabilized. He dug deep, and found the rest of what he was missing.

" _Put aside your feelings, and be what you are. All that we are is not contained in feelings, in thoughts, in memories. It's in the spark, Smokescreen. Fight, Smokescreen. The enemy is in you, so fight it. Fight for what you believe in. Don't let that darkness win. Fight for your life."_

Electricity pulsed through him. It hurt. But he let it hurt, because he knew that was the only way out was through the pain. The electricity sent energon surging through him, and it felt just like claws raking through him, only instead of touching on nerves, it touched on every negative he had inside.

Angry at being forced out of the warm dark, fear that he would be too late, doubt that he could do this at all, bitter about destiny's bringing him to this place, rage at himself for not being able to shake this off, guilt, shame, resentment, the feeling of being manipulated, chaos filling every corner of his being; a black tide bearing down on him, under whose waves he was already drowning. And beyond it... void. Emptiness. A harrowing _nothing_ which showed no signs of relenting, an internal valley of shadow where there should have been light, a central core of death where there should have been life. He couldn't get across. There was no way out.

 _Help me!_ His mind screamed out, but he couldn't form the words.

Yet help came.

"Hold him still," Ratchet's voice in the dark, "Keep him from dislodging my equipment."

Hands held onto him then. He felt them. Arcee on his right, holding onto his arm. Optimus on the left, holding the rest of him. But they weren't holding him down. They were holding on. They wouldn't let him drown. They wouldn't let him go. They were his friends, his family, and they would help him.

It felt like he was alone, but he wasn't. They were still there. They were still holding onto him. His chest heaved as he prepared to dive deep. This time, he couldn't shy from the dark. He was not alone. And he could not allow himself to give in to that abyss. Not when his family still needed him.

 _I can do this_ , he thought.

For a beat in that infernal darkness, he saw a light. It was the faintest flicker, the slightest ray of disbelieving hope. To a drowning man, a plank of wood is a galleon. To the lost, the faintest trace of a deer trail is a road paved with gold. To the broken, every shattered piece is as precious as a diamond, because each fragment represents that much more possibility of putting the pieces back together and becoming whole once more. To Smokescreen, that spark of hope, distant and unreal, was everything.

With a gasp, he opened his eyes and almost choked as reality crashed over him. The colors dazzled, the light blinded, but he didn't have time to absorb or express the myriad changes racking through him with a painful intensity. Instead, he had to fight to locate his voice, and to make that voice form a single, coherent word. A name.

"Bumblebee."


	20. Chapter 20

It wasn't a cure. Not even close. But it gave Smokescreen the strength he needed to keep going. That name, spoken in an urgently gasped whisper, was enough to distract both Optimus and Arcee into loosening their hold on Smokescreen. He rolled off the table, onto his hands and knees to the floor.

"Smokescreen, be careful!" Ratchet exclaimed.

Smokescreen realized the medic wasn't just concerned about him. Hazily, he recalled Ratchet telling the others to hold him, and he realized there were things attached to him that he didn't recognize as a part of himself, that he didn't know the function of. Along the rickety rails of logic, he concluded that these must be part of whatever Ratchet had used to prevent him from shutting down. No, worse than shutting down. He'd been about to really be through. And that's exactly what would happen to Bumblebee.

"Bumblebee," he shook his head, trying to clear it, to form a coherent sentence, "Where's Bumblebee?"

The question had the effect of a lightning strike on Optimus.

"Bulkhead, Arcee: find Bumblebee," his voice held tension; Optimus understood Smokescreen's warning.

Since the other Autobots seemed to have picked up on what Smokescreen was trying to tell them, he redirected his attention to carefully removing the bits of medical equipment attached to him. Ratchet was on him immediately, and didn't seem to understand why he was trying to disentangle himself.

"Don't remove those," Ratchet told him, grabbing onto one of Smokescreen's arms, "You're not cured, this is just holding the worst symptoms at bay."

"You got another one of these?" Smokescreen asked, impatiently trying to brush Ratchet off.

"Of course not. This is a prototype, and extremely delicate-" Smokescreen interrupted Ratchet.

"Then get it off me!" he spat, then his voice softened, "Right now, Bumblebee's gonna need it more than I do."

"And what if you crash again? We barely got you hooked up fast enough this time."

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Smokescreen demanded, eyes flashing as he glared at Ratchet, "Bumblebee is _already_ crashing. He needs your help _now_ , not whenever you're finished with me."

At last what Smokescreen was trying to say seemed to penetrate. Ratchet was accustomed to his patients trying to escape before they were fit, but it finally dawned on him that he might have another patient besides Smokescreen, who would be in more urgent need of care. Smokescreen wasn't exactly stable, but Ratchet's invention had bought him time. Time that Bumblebee did not have.

"Just," Ratchet still held firmly to Smokescreen, "let me. I don't need you breaking things you don't understand."

Smokescreen obediently sat back and let Ratchet detach each cable and tube in turn. He was almost finished when Bulkhead and Arcee came in, carrying Bumblebee between them. They set him down on the table Smokescreen had recently vacated. Bumblebee's eyes were unnaturally dark.

"He's unresponsive," Arcee told Ratchet, "We found him lying on the floor."

"Looks like he collapsed just like Smoke," Bulkhead supplied.

"No," Smokescreen said, getting unsteadily to his feet and going to stand beside Bumblebee, "Not just like me. _I_ wasn't alone."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Ratchet asked as he began to attach his invention to Bumblebee.

"Maybe nothing," Smokescreen said quietly, "Maybe everything."

Ratchet's machine activated with a soft hum. Electricity and energon flowed from it to Bumblebee. Smokescreen watched for a moment, then looked at the readings Ratchet was getting on his display monitors. He didn't know what those readings meant, but he could see they weren't changing.

"C'mon, Bee," Bulkhead barely breathed the words, but Smokescreen heard them.

Tensely, silently, the seconds ticked away. A minute went by, and then two. Ratchet shook his head.

"We're losing him."

Smokescreen didn't think he'd heard right. He looked at the readings, which seemed to be dropping. He looked at Bumblebee, motionless, his eyes without life in them. Smokescreen set his jaw.

"No," He reached out and grasped Bumblebee's left hand in his own, and leaned close, "Bumblebee, you can't quit now. Hear me. Remember what you told me. If you expect me to believe it, then you have to believe it too. Life matters, that's what you said. That means yours too. Do you hear me, Bumblebee?"

He neither expected an answer nor received one. He looked at Ratchet, saw the medic still shaking his head. He glanced at the other Autobots, but they looked as if they were helpless. They didn't know what to do. But Smokescreen did, because he'd been where Bumblebee was now. The difference between them was that Smokescreen hadn't been alone when he fell. Bumblebee had.

"Listen to me," Smokescreen said, after gathering his composure, "I know you think it's better there, in the dark where you can't feel anything. And I know you can't see anything besides the black. But I need you to believe me when I say that there is. I need you to trust me. Fight, Bumblebee. Find the light in the darkness. Have faith that it's there. And fight for your life."

He wished desperately that he could offer Bumblebee his strength in this moment, but all he had were his words and his touch, his presence to reassure the Scout that he wasn't as alone as the darkness wanted him to feel, solid proof that someone was there to catch him if he fell, a promise that he was not the only one who'd ever been where he was. And that there was someone who would grieve for him if he did not make it through that darkness to the light he was promised on the other side.

"Please," it was the only word Arcee spoke, and she didn't even seem aware of having said it.

The readings didn't change, and Bumblebee looked dead as ever. But Smokescreen felt the hand he held twitch, just slightly. He held on more tightly, and placed his free hand on Bumblebee's shoulder, remembering that he himself had begun thrashing as he fought for consciousness.

Was it enough? Was it possible anything could be enough?

Inside, he knew that it depended on Bumblebee. Experience had taught him something on this day. While it would not have been possible for him to make it out on his own, Smokescreen knew that it had been he who dragged himself up out of that pit of despair. Nobody could do it for him. He'd had to make that choice, and fought his way through for himself. Ratchet's device had lent him strength, and the presence of the Autobots had given him something to hold onto, but he'd climbed out on his own. If Bumblebee didn't choose to do that as well, there was nothing any of them could do to save him.

Smokescreen knew firsthand how difficult that choice was, when all he could see ahead was more fear and pain. But he also knew that, if Bee continued to move through it instead of giving up, he might just see -if only for a second- a faint glimmer on the horizon, a dim light in the distance. Hope. Hope that there was something better ahead, that the darkness couldn't last. Hope that, in the end, there was some reason for all the suffering. It wasn't much, he knew. But it had been enough for him, and he now turned that hope towards hoping that it would be enough for Bumblebee too.

 _Take your own advice,_ Smokescreen told himself, _Have faith in your team mate. Believe in him, and -just maybe- he'll believe too._

He didn't look at Ratchet again, or the damned readings. Ratchet could shake his head, and the readings could say whatever they liked; but as for Smokescreen, he believed. He knew he didn't have a lot of experience, and these bots were still mostly strangers to him. But he knew how strong they could be. He'd been told how Bumblebee had lost his voice. If the Scout could face Megatron without flinching, then there was no way he could possibly give up just because of a little darkness.

He wished he had the words to say that, but somehow the only thing he could think of to say say was, "You can do this."

"Yeah," Bulkhead spoke up, "You heard Smoke. You've got this, Bee."

The readings on Ratchet's screens abruptly jumped, as did Bumblebee. A harsh buzz escaped him as he abruptly tried to sit up. Seeing Smokescreen was having difficulty holding onto him, Optimus moved in on the other side and held the thrashing Scout still.

"Easy, Bumblebee," came the deep, reassuring tone of the Prime's voice, "Do not be afraid. We are here," Smokescreen flashed him a grateful look, glad that he was no longer the only one talking.

He was so absorbed in trying to help Bumblebee that he didn't consciously realize that this was the first time he'd felt grateful or glad about anything in what felt like an eternity. He didn't notice his confidence beginning the slow, arduous journey back up to where it had been from where it had fallen to. It wasn't much relief, but any at all was almost disorienting in its power because he'd been without it for so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like not to just feel bad about everything all the time.

Bumblebee's hand closed on Smokescreen's, and gripped harder until it actually hurt. Smokescreen said nothing about it. As before, he let it hurt, because he knew it was the beginning of finding the way out. Bumblebee was holding on, and Smokescreen wasn't about to let go of him.

Light flared in Bumblebee's eyes, and he sank back against the table. The frantic buzzing settled into a gasping burr, as of someone taking shuddering breaths in after breaking the surface from underwater. But even though he was lying back, no longer thrashing, Bumblebee continued to hold onto Smokescreen. And -Smokescreen noticed in the corner of his eye- Optimus was still holding onto the Scout, and he somehow didn't think that the Prime was doing so "just in case".

 _{Don't look so worried,}_ Bumblebee managed to burr, looking at Smokescreen in particular as he spoke, _{You should have more faith in me than that.}_

The unexpectedness of the remark, and the absurd combination of sincerity and humor in Bumblebee's eyes as he spoke completely ruined Smokescreen's ability to take anything seriously. He didn't really find the remark especially funny, but he couldn't help it: he laughed. And, once he started, it seemed like he couldn't stop. It was like all the laughter he'd been unable to access all this time suddenly bubbled to the surface and expended itself. He was helpless with it. And, while he laughed, he saw in Bumblebee's eyes that this was exactly what the Scout had expected him to do.

The other Autobots just stared at him, like they couldn't figure out what was so funny. Smokescreen tried to stop laughing and explain it to them, but then decided he actually didn't know what was so funny and just shook his head.

"You think he's having a nervous breakdown?" Bulkhead asked Arcee, who merely shrugged.

It was a long time before Smokescreen could recover from that remark enough to find out where his composure had gone off to. When he finally did, he saw that Bumblebee was still looking at him. Not with incomprehension like the others were, but with something else, something that floored him. In Bumblebee's blue and black eyes, there was understanding... and gratitude.

 _{You were right,}_ Bumblebee said quietly.

"So were you," Smokescreen told him, and smiled slightly.

He wasn't whole, he knew that. But he understood now that even the slightest possibility of hope was the key to emotions and feelings he hadn't even realized he had before they'd been lost to him. There was something beyond the empty darkness, he just had to keep going and find it.

 _{Faith,}_ Bumblebee said.

"Courage," Smokescreen answered.

Smokescreen felt a twinge of embarrassment at the looks he was getting from the other Autobots, but Bumblebee was actively ignoring them, and Smokescreen realized that it didn't matter what they thought. What he and the Scout had found today could be strong enough to help them find the light again. They had a chance. To those who have nothing left, that elusive flicker of hope is everything.


	21. Chapter 21

It is not easy to repair something broken. When a glass falls to the floor and shatters, its pieces scatter far and wide, winding up in places you would never think to look for them. The fragments are so numerous and small that it often is preferable to simply throw it away and get a new one that is not broken. Even if you do manage to find all those scattered pieces, they will never fit together quite the same as they did before, the lines where the broken pieces were put together will always be there.

Unfortunately, we have the same tendency to do that with the people in our lives. We may care very much for a person, but it's easier to avoid them than to help them carry the weight of their baggage, easier to help them pick up the shattered pieces of their lives only when it is convenient for us to do so. To only be around them when it is pleasant for us, rather than when they are most in need. It is easier to pretend not to see, than to realize that shattered lives aren't made whole overnight. A single breakthrough is not a complete cure. But the reality is that none of us are whole. Not one of us is without scars, and nobody lives that never has a bad day.

Smokescreen and Bumblebee had only just begun to try and pick up the pieces of themselves that they'd lost to the NIWE device. Some days were better than others. Even some minutes were better than others. Sometimes Smokescreen felt like he could take on anything, others he felt like the slightest breeze would break him all over again, leaving him where he'd started. And there were setbacks.

When you're surrounded by darkness, it's easy to lose sight of the light. And, the longer you stay in the dark, the harder it is to believe that light was ever really there at all. Even when you know it's real, it can seem so far away as to be unreachable, and then the very sight of it becomes more discouraging than the doubt about its existence. In the darkest places, sometimes the hope feels like it's more painful than the nothing that fills the void of its absence, and it's easy to start wondering if the struggle is worth that pain. And that's not a question anyone can answer for you.

Even though Smokescreen knew he and Bumblebee had the same struggles in common right now, and even though the other Autobots were there to help them, to catch them if they stumbled or fell, he knew that he was also very much alone. And so, for that matter, was Bumblebee. Nobody could face their battles for them, they had to do that for themselves. It began to seem like he was fighting the same battle every time, like he wasn't actually gaining anything.

In the few days since he and Bumblebee had fought their way from the brink of death, it seemed like he was as close to that jagged edge as ever, and the hope was just as small as it had always been. Even though he knew it was true, it was difficult for him to realize that things really weren't as bad as they'd been. He really did have a few positives that he'd lacked before. He really did have something to fight with now, instead of having nothing with which to face the endless tide of emptiness inside.

It still felt like the difference between having no weapon at all and having a handful of small rocks instead while facing a horde of Decepticons with fully functional blasters. Like now he could vaguely annoy his opponent instead of doing nothing. But when the thing you're annoying is inside you, you feel that frustration and irritation for yourself, because it's also a part of you.

Bumblebee was coping better than Smokescreen. Bumblebee knew what it was to wait, with only the barest scrap of hope to use as a life-raft. He knew what it was to be in a deep, dark pit out of which he could not climb, with nothing but the distant light at the top for company.

When he had been captured and tortured by Megatron, Bumblebee had precious little hope to cling to. Nobody had known where he was, or even that he was in trouble. No one was looking for him. Even if they had been, there was no way that anyone could fight their way into Megatron's stronghold. That was where Bumblebee had first met despair face to face. Eventually, death had seemed preferable to the pain. He had no chance of escape, and no one was coming for him. He was utterly alone, without hope of rescue. Oh yes, he had met despair. And he knew the true extent of the meaning of the word "alone".

Having met before with the demons of despair, self-pity, and the sort of anxiety that makes you ask the question "What if I can't stay silent another day?", Bumblebee knew them to be liars and cheats, stealing what little comfort he could find in the arms of hope for the light, faith in endurance, and love for the ones that his silence was protecting. And he knew the feeling that those demons would never leave, that there would never be anything else for the falsehood it was.

It did not make him immune to the weight dragging him down, but experience had prepared him to be patient in the face of seemingly endless torment, made him stronger, and he was able to bear up under the strain better than Smokescreen was.

But it wasn't just that. Smokescreen had to have faith in someone he barely knew. Bumblebee had firsthand experience with Ratchet. After Megatron was done with him, Bumblebee was left for dead. If it hadn't been for Ratchet, Bee would not be alive now. He had never forgotten this, and now he held to that knowledge because it gave him hope, but also made him think realistically. Yes, Ratchet had saved his life, but the medic could not save his voice. Sometimes you had to realize that things could not be the way they had been before. Sometimes the cracks in the glass were all too plain to see.

Because of what he'd already been through, Bumblebee understood that he might have to live as someone less in some ways than he'd been before. If this was all he would ever have, then he must come to terms with it, accept it, and find a way to live with it. He was prepared for that.

Smokescreen wasn't.

 _{I don't know how to help him,}_ Bumblebee confessed to Raf one afternoon.

He was parked under a tree, and the boy was seated on his hood, ostensibly doing homework, but actually enjoying the view of wide open spaces and distant mountains. Bumblebee had been unspeakably relieved to find that he was able to appreciate the beauty Earth had to offer once again. He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed seeing the world around him for the miracle it was. He'd continued to believe, and to understand it, but that was far different from actually experiencing the unfathomable wonder of it all for himself. He'd seen, without really seeing, for far too long.

"I don't think you really can," Raf told him after a long moment of thought, "except by being there for him when he needs you. Like you're always here for me."

 _{I'm not his Guardian,}_ Bumblebee pointed out, _{I can't just follow him around.}_

"That's not what I meant," Raf said, pausing to try and think it through, "But you're always there. You always listen to me, and you come when I need you. I know I can count on you, no matter what."

Bumblebee always felt uncomfortable with things like this. Having his good qualities pointed out just embarrassed him, and made him want to explain that he wasn't as great as he was being made out to be. But he didn't say anything. This wasn't about him right now, it was about Smokescreen.

 _{So?}_ he managed to ask through the various self-deprecating remarks that were trying to escape.

"Smokescreen hasn't been on Team Prime for long," Raf said, "He probably still feels like an outsider. I kinda think that's why he always acts so eager, he's trying to fit in, and prove he's worth something."

 _{He has nothing to prove,}_ Bumblebee replied, _{He's one of us.}_

"I know that, but does he?"

 _{Optimus himself welcomed Smokescreen into our ranks.}_

"But does he understand what exactly that means?" Raf pressed.

Bumblebee paused at this. He remembered that Smokescreen had talked about having faith in his fellow Autobots. But he'd spoken in terms of what they _could_ do, not what they _would_ do. Those were two very different things. It also occurred to him how much emphasis on himself Smokescreen placed when he talked about defeating the Decepticons. It was arrogance, certainly. But was it also insecurity? Did he think of himself as being separate from the rest of the Autobots, unable to rely on them? He believed they were capable of just about anything, but did he also believe that they would do everything in their power to help him, just as they helped one another?

He realized how long it had taken him to understand it for himself. When he had lost his T-Cog, Bumblebee had felt worse than useless. He'd felt completely worthless. Somehow, he'd felt that he had to earn his place among the Autobots every day, that he constantly had to prove his value to them. In retrospect, he wasn't entirely sure why that was. They didn't have to prove their worth to him. He never stopped to think about what each of them had done for him lately to decide whether or not they were his friends. He knew that wasn't how it worked.

Friendship -real friendship- is offered freely, with no price tag attached. Bumblebee had known some bots he'd thought were his friends who only seemed to like him so long as he went along with what they said, or did something they wanted, or pretended to be someone he was not, and were nowhere to be found when he needed help, and abandoned him at the first sign of his needing to lean on them. It had taken a lifetime for him to finally discover that those weren't friends, that he was not the problem. Real friendship was not based on convenience, and it wasn't reliant on what either party had done to earn it. It simply was. And real friends would help you, no matter how hard or inconvenient it might be for them.

Bumblebee knew that. But did Smokescreen? And did Smokescreen know the other Autobots counted him as more than just another set of blasters? Once accepted by Optimus, Smokescreen became family. He was their brother, even if they were unsure as of yet whether any of them could count him as their friend. And family, Bumblebee knew, wasn't about blood. It was about taking care of one another, working together, helping each other, protecting, trusting and supporting each other; not keeping a record of what they'd done wrong lately or marking down whether anyone had done enough right to be worthy of their place in that family.

Bumblebee had thought of Smokescreen as a lot of things, but he'd never considered from this angle. The constant loneliness of believing that you had to continually prove that you were worth caring about was unimaginable to one who hadn't experienced it, and unbearable to those who had.

Bumblebee remembered feeling like he had to carry every burden himself. He wanted others to know they could come to him with their problems, that he would help them, but he hadn't felt like he could do the same with anyone else. His problems seemed too big to ask for help with, the burdens of life too heavy to ask anyone else to carry. He was scared to let anyone help him, for fear that one day they'd just decide he was too much trouble and walk out on him. He knew the fear and shame of that kind of existence, and now wondered if Smokescreen might not suffer from the same isolation.

Bumblebee realized he'd become silent as he contemplated all of this when Raf suddenly snapped his textbook shut and said, "You want to see if we can find Smokescreen and hang out with him for awhile?"

He smiled inwardly, relieved that he could feel gratitude. Without Bumblebee's having to say anything, Raf had figured out what he was thinking, and offered a helping hand, saying -without the use of words- that he understood what Bumblebee was feeling and thinking.

 _{Yes,}_ Bumblebee replied, opening his side door so that Raf could get in, _{Thank you, Raf.}_

"It's okay," Raf told him, "I know what it's like to feel lonely. Nobody should have to feel that way."

* * *

Knockout knew exactly what it was like to be alone.

Megatron had no interest in gluing broken glasses back together. If something no longer served its function, he would get rid of it without a moment's hesitation. Thus, though Knockout's emotions were still rather wobbly and he was prone to unpredictable mood swings, he had to do his best to conceal that weakness, or else Megatron would throw him away like a piece of scrap. He also needed to hide his weakness from the other Decepticons, who would be quick to take advantage of any opening they saw which might allow them to increase their own power or strengthen their position in the ranks.

He didn't know how Soundwave was coping but, as for himself, he felt exhausted at the end of each day, just from trying to pretend he was back to normal.

As far as he could tell, he had access to the full range of positives. But his mind and body didn't entirely know what to do with these feelings anymore. His systems had been almost entirely shut down by the time he'd found the reversal, and now the negatives were coming back twice as strong as before.

He sometimes thought he might just spontaneously combust from all the emotions that were crammed inside him. He'd felt empty before, but now he felt over full, and nothing seemed to be in the right place. He was amused by things that weren't funny, frightened of things that weren't scary and upset by things that didn't normally bother him in the slightest. He couldn't trust his own internal reactions to tell him how he felt about anything. It was like his systems had forgotten how to operate and were just firing off random impulses in the hopes of hitting the right nerve.

At the end of the day, he'd find himself holding his head in his hands, trying to fend off a headache and shut out the very noisy place his mind had all of a sudden become.

He almost missed feeling empty...


	22. Chapter 22

Smokescreen was tired. He was tired of trying to hold onto a bit of hope that seemed more unreal with each passing day. He was tired of pretending to be happy when he wasn't. He was tired of pretending to be strong when he wasn't. He was tired of pretending he was alright.

The other Autobots had seen the way his words had brought Bumblebee around. Minutes before that, they'd seen the tenacity with which he'd clung to life. Naturally, they assumed that strength was limitless, that it had not been spent in one desperate lunge from the blackest darkness. Naturally, they believed that he was better now, that he was stronger now than before. The reality was that he felt drained, spent, as if he'd turn into a pillar of rust the next time he tried to move.

He tried to remind himself how far he'd come. After all, he wasn't contemplating suicide anymore. He'd made progress away from that darkest of escape routes. But, somehow, he couldn't feel very proud of that. Only ashamed that he'd fallen that far to begin with. And he doubted it was his positive/negative energy imbalance that was doing it to him. Here he was, with a destiny to fight alongside Optimus and other Autobots who were bound to become legendary, to fight Decepticons (and surely win), and he'd almost thrown all of that away. And for what? For some lack of feeling? How weak was that?

 _Courage. Faith. Hope._

It had all seemed so clear.

Now it felt like it was slipping away again. And he didn't know what to do about it.

 _{It's not enough, is it?}_ Smokescreen practically jumped through the ceiling at the unexpected sound of Bumblebee's voice.

"What?" Smokescreen looked at him, "What isn't enough?"

Bumblebee looked much smaller in his vehicle form, and the current slightly upward tilt of his side mirrors made him appear the slightest bit like he was about to tell a clever (or stupid) joke. Instead, he opened his side door and let Raf out. Maybe that was the joke. But, if it was, Smokescreen didn't get it.

"What Bee's trying to ask is if you'd like to go for a drive. He told me he's tired of just sitting around."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Come on, Smokescreen, you're built to drive fast. Don't tell me you don't want to."

Smokescreen hesitated, thinking of the last time he'd left the base.

"You're not gonna make Bee go by himself, are you?" Raf persisted.

Smokescreen decided to address Bumblebee, "I thought we were supposed to stay at the base."

 _{That was before, when we didn't have any way to protect ourselves. Now we do.}_

"Did Optimus say it was okay?" Smokescreen asked.

 _{Optimus is busy. We'll go as far and long as you like. Or until it's time to take Raf home, whichever comes first.}_

Something about the presence of the boy was reassuring. Bumblebee would take no risks at all as long as he had Raf with him. Smokescreen felt a pang of shame at wanting to avoid trouble, when he'd come here for the express purpose of fighting Decepticons, but he couldn't help it, he didn't want to fight right now. Not even to argue with Bumblebee.

Smokescreen cooperatively transformed, and took off. Bumblebee, having to recollect Raf, was a little bit slower off the mark. Smokescreen meant to slow down and wait for him, but he felt a rush inside as he accelerated that swept him up in it and carried him out onto the open road.

Raf was right. Everything about Smokescreen was designed for speed. And not just speed, but precision. He had chosen a vehicle form to match who and what he was. Nobody had told him there was anything wrong with being a race car. Heck, he didn't even know what a race car _was_ until Jack explained it to him, and even then he hadn't really understood that the type of car he'd picked usually stayed on an oval track and was almost never seen on the open road. Even if he had, it might not have mattered, because he couldn't really pick a vehicle form that was unsuited to him. It didn't make sense to try and be less or different than what he was. So he didn't blend in well, so what? He wasn't designed to be anonymous, to disappear into the background. And he couldn't pretend to be anything else. He wasn't a Decepticon, it wasn't in his nature to lie about who he was, and how he felt.

He hadn't felt truly alive since that first encounter with the NIWE device. A part of himself had seemed to have been killed off. And it was the part of him that understood _why_ he had to be a race car. It was the part of him that felt a shuddering, almost giddy surge at even the thought of going fast, that urged him to accelerate, to push the limits of his speed, to try to defy the laws of gravity with sheer velocity.

Still, Smokescreen didn't realize how far beyond a hundred he'd pushed until his wheels wobbled under him because he was going too fast to maintain steering control. A twitch of his mirror revealed that Bumblebee was staying right with him, despite the fact that he wasn't built to the same standard for speed that Smokescreen was. In accordance with the law as it had been laid down for him, Smokescreen reluctantly decelerated, and Bumblebee rapidly pulled even with him.

"Why did you let me do that?" Smokescreen asked, "I broke the speed limit."

Bumblebee's reply was so unexpected Smokescreen almost steered himself into the patch of dirt alongside the road when he heard it, _{Don't worry. I won't let you crash into anything.}_

Smokescreen chafed under the restraint he was forced to have here on Earth, but he'd been so firmly reined in, so tightly controlled, that he couldn't quite believe that Bumblebee was turning him loose. He didn't really dare to speed up again at first, half-thinking this was some kind of test, albeit a cruel and unusual one. Smokescreen was built to be fast, to take risks and get away with them. But he'd been told not to do that. He'd been told to have self-control, to obey traffic laws for reasons he didn't understand, and was held back from combat for other reasons he didn't understand. He'd been locked up and tied down, prevented from doing what he wanted to do, struggling to learn the rules that would grant him acceptance. Bumblebee had already coursed him into leaving the base without permission, and now the Scout seemed to be trying to goad him into further bad behavior.

Was it a test? For what purpose? To see if the lessons he'd struggled to learn had finally been hammered home? They had. Autobots were robots in disguise, check. Humanity could not know about them, check. Humans were fragile and you had to be careful not to hurt them, check. Use strategy over speed, check. Hard won knowledge, but all there, all understood and accepted.

 _{Trust me,}_ Bumblebee said, nudging past Smokescreen, _{And try to keep up.}_

Bumblebee shot ahead of him. It was one thing for the Scout to keep pace, another for him to speed ahead of Smokescreen all on his own. Still, Smokescreen hesitated a moment more, uncertainly flicking his mirrors to make absolute certain there were no humans (or Autobots) watching.

And then he answered Bumblebee's challenge with a roar of his engine. It wasn't hard to catch Bumblebee. However, actually overtaking him was another matter. The Scout was unwilling to give up the lead easily. He might not have been a race car, but Bumblebee was willing and able to give Smokescreen a run for his money. He also had more steering control at higher speed than Smokescreen did. Or else he just had more practice at driving, Smokescreen wasn't sure.

Bumblebee might have been the better driver, and have had the most experience, but Smokescreen was built for just this kind of conflict. Once he overcame his unease, and regained his bearings after so long driving slow, he found he had at least twenty MPH capability over Bumblebee. No amount of defensive driving could cope with that indefinitely. Smokescreen took his chance, and shot past Bumblebee on a piece of especially straight road, where steering wasn't as much of a concern.

Taking the lead was one thing. Keeping it was something else entirely.

Whenever the road curved, even slightly, Smokescreen was forced to slow down to make the turn. Bumblebee seemed to have some means of compensating that Smokescreen didn't understand, and appeared able to take curves at speed. When he was going too fast and he hit a bump or a small rock in the road, Smokescreen felt like his wheels were about to lurch out from under him, and struggled to stay in his lane. Bumblebee saw the obstacles coming and never hit anything.

Bumblebee gained on him. Smokescreen knew the Scout wasn't even pushing his limits. And he wouldn't, not so long as he was carrying a human in the back seat. So long as he had Raf with him, Bumblebee was practicing caution and restraint beyond the norm. Yet he was still inexplicably gaining.

The land flashed past them on either side, but neither of them took any notice at all. Trying to press to even greater speed, Smokescreen felt his tires slip and nearly leave the ground. A yellow and black streak suddenly cut by from on his left, and Smokescreen knew Bumblebee had passed him.

The sudden motion in his side mirror startled him and he tapped the brakes without even thinking. His tires squealed on the pavement, and he started to spin out. Bumblebee was immediately at his side, guiding him into the correct turn. The Scout knew just how close to come, so that Smokescreen just barely bumped against his right fender as they turned together.

Bumblebee couldn't make the turn for him, but he could help to guide Smokescreen into it, acting as a visible reminder, a reassuring presence telling him not to panic, to flow into the turn instead of fighting against it. They came to a stop, side by each, facing the way they'd come.

Smokescreen felt the beginning of trembling inside, realizing that -if Bumblebee hadn't been there- he'd have been forced to transform to control the spin rather than crash. Bumblebee had drawn him into the race, but it was Smokescreen's mistake. He could have all too easily broken another rule.

 _{Told you I wouldn't let you crash,}_ Bumblebee's voice sounded exhilarated, and breathless, _{But I didn't realize you were such an easily distracted driver.}_

The last remark could have been meant to hurt, but there was amusement in Bumblebee's tone. Easily, he shifted gears, backing up, turning around and getting back into his lane. He started off again, still going fast, but no longer trying to break the sound barrier. Smokescreen felt relief flood through him. Evidently there would be no rebuke, no scolding. Not this time.

Shaking off the myriad feelings he couldn't fully sort out, Smokescreen followed Bumblebee. This time though, he didn't try to overtake the Scout. Bumblebee wasn't speeding to challenge him, he was driving at a speed that asked Smokescreen to follow him. There was freedom in this speed, but it was far less reckless than they'd been earlier. Or maybe only Smokescreen had been reckless. He still couldn't entirely believe Bumblebee would ever be reckless with a human's life.

To his surprise, Smokescreen realized the urge to go faster seemed to have been momentarily silenced. Either he had satisfied it, or it was now tempered by awareness of how dangerous it could be. Either way, he was content now to merely follow the Scout. They were still going faster than was probably allowed, but slow enough now to admire the scenery whipping past them.

Bumblebee was as good as his word. They drove until it began to get dark. Bumblebee had somehow kept them to roads well outside cities and towns, yet still managed to circle them towards Raf's home. After they dropped him off, Smokescreen expected Bumblebee to head them back towards base. When Bee went past the turn, Smokescreen thought maybe the Scout had just missed it, until he remembered how flawlessly Bumblebee had made sure they never found the same stretch of road twice, while all the while ensuring that they'd make it back to Raf's home on time.

When he left the road for the rock and dirt of the desert, Smokescreen followed him. Bumblebee drove them far out of sight of any roads, into a maze of steep canyon walls, before finally halting. Bumblebee transformed and Smokescreen followed suit cooperatively.

"You didn't really want to go for a drive, did you?" Smokescreen asked.

 _{No, but you did,}_ Bumblebee answered honestly.

"Why would you do that for me?" Smokescreen wanted to know, his confusion deepening, "Why would you let me break every rule you and the other Autobots have gone to such trouble to make sure I learn to obey? Why would you race with me like that?"

 _{Because it was what you needed,}_ Bumblebee replied.

Bumblebee was right. For just a few hours, a mere blink in the span of time he had lived, he'd forgotten about Decepticons, destiny, trying to prove himself, struggling to fit in, forcing himself to function despite missing pieces of himself he hadn't even known he could lose. Losing himself in the thrill of speed had given him that.

Bumblebee had given him that.

"Still don't understand why you'd do it," he said, and then corrected himself, "Why you would do it for me. You don't even like me."

 _{Should that matter?}_ Bumblebee asked, like he thought Smokescreen's confusion was by far the most foolish thing he'd ever been witness to, _{You're a part of this team, Smokescreen. That makes you family. Don't ever think otherwise. And never forget what it means.}_

Smokescreen realized that Bumblebee wasn't talking about the responsibility of it, as he'd so often talked about it before. He was talking about something else. Something Smokescreen wasn't sure he really understood. Bumblebee explained his actions by saying Smokescreen had needed it, and that he was family, as if that somehow made it make sense. As if it explained everything, not just what he'd done for Smokescreen today, but everything he'd ever done in his entire life. As if it was an explanation of existence itself.

"I don't think I understand," Smokescreen admitted reluctantly.

To his surprise, Bumblebee just laughed and said, _{Neither did I. It took me a long time. But -someday- you will. It's okay not to understand everything. Sometimes, Smokescreen, you just have to accept things, even if you don't understand them.}_

"How did you get so smart?"

 _{Practice,}_ he answered, with another burr of laughter, _{Years and years of practice.}_


	23. Chapter 23

Knockout was beginning to wonder if maybe his cure hadn't really worked. He still felt jumbled up, confused by his own emotional reactions to things. In fact, he was beginning to feel like he'd been better off lying on the floor, oozing apathy like leaking energon. Having positive energies seemed to do nothing but strengthen the negative ones, and everything was turned upside down.

He couldn't focus on his work, and that meant he was inadequately serving Megatron. That would not go unnoticed for long, and it certainly would not be tolerated. Knowing that, however, just made him feel more tense and distracted than ever. He felt like he was whole, but like nothing was in the right place. His internal rationalization and emoting processes were all wrong. It was like a library where the books were all out of order, nothing sorted by genre or alphabetized, just stuffed haphazardly into shelves, one book crammed in on top of another without any sort of care. He felt like chaos itself had built itself a nest inside him, and he didn't much like the feeling.

Again and again, he found his thoughts straying to the NIWE. If he wasn't paying attention to his research, his fingers would find sentience of their own and pull up the files on the NIWE device. He found himself reading and rereading the same texts over and over, repulsed by the memory of what it had been like, and yet also attracted to the simplicity, and remembering how -towards the end- he just hadn't cared about... anything. He'd even dared to talk back to Megatron. That was how powerful his indifference had been. If the emptiness had been undesirable, this overcrowded, disorganized internal arrangement was positively hellish.

Each time he went down that road, he'd pull back, try to recreate the notes he'd destroyed, to try and see where he'd gone wrong. But, as before, he couldn't see that he had gone wrong at all.

But if the cure really had worked, why did he still feel this way?

* * *

Instead of going home, Smokescreen and Bumblebee stayed and watched the stars light up the sky. Animals didn't fear Cybertronians, so they didn't disturb the wildlife that crept from the shadows to haunt the night. A coyote yipped in the distance. Closer by, a lizard snatched a bug out of the air. The two Autobots didn't pay any attention to the life of the desert.

"Do you think Ratchet can really find a way to help us?" Smokescreen asked finally.

 _{I believe he will do all he can, and no one could do better.}_

"But you don't know if he can find a cure," Smokescreen persisted, speaking the words Bumblebee hadn't.

Bumblebee sighed, _{There may not be one. Not everything that's broken can be fixed.}_

Smokescreen swallowed that. It was a bitter truth, but he was grateful Bumblebee hadn't tried to lie, to give him false hope. What little hope he had was so precious, he didn't think he could bear to have any falsehoods attached to it. He couldn't survive it being a pure illusion. Still, the thought of always feeling this hollowness inside, feeling only the ghosts of emotions, only being half alive... he closed his eyes against that train of thought.

"What then?" Smokescreen wanted to know, "We just... give up?"

 _{No. We go on,}_ Bumblebee replied, _{We endure. We learn to live with our limitations.}_

"You think that's possible?"

 _{I think, if it is, then we're the right ones to prove it.}_

"You know, I keep thinking that -eventually- your answer's going to change. I don't know why. It never does, does it? Whatever tools you have, you use them, and keep going."

 _{The alternative is to hand Megatron his victory on a platter,}_ was the oddly cold reply, _{If he ever wins, I don't want it to be because I stopped trying.}_

"That doesn't sound much like confidence," Smokescreen said, "It sounds like you think we might actually lose this war."

 _{We already lost our world. What's a war compared with that?}_ Bumblebee shook his head, _{I'm just saying that we have to at least try. Otherwise, what's the point of even being alive? Win or lose, it still matters that we tried, and gave our all in the end. When I'm gone, I don't want anyone to ever be able to say that I just gave up, and let Megatron have Cybertron, Earth, and the rest of the universe. Because he won't stop here. No amount of power will_ ever _be enough for him.}_

"And what if, after all this is over, there's no one left who remembers us?"

 _{I've been a slave to Megatron's will before. I'll die before that happens again. Even if I'm bound to lose, I'd rather do that than not try at all. To not even try is worse than any failure.}_

Smokescreen could hear there was a story behind the statement, but by now he'd learned not to ask about it when he heard that particular tone of voice. He somehow got the sense that Bumblebee wasn't a former Decepticon, that when he said 'slave' that's exactly what he meant, that he hadn't been given a choice, that Megatron had owned him. Smokescreen wanted to ask, but he didn't.

"You're an odd guy," Smokescreen said, "The kind I'd be honored to fight alongside any day."

Bumblebee looked like he was going to respond, most likely to brush off the compliment, but the pinging of his comm unit distracted him. He answered the call from base. It was Ratchet.

" _Bumblebee! Where are you!?"_ even before Bumblebee gathered a reply, Ratchet hurried on, _"Never mind, that's not important. Is Smokescreen with you?"_

 _{Yes...}_

" _Good. You two get back here. I think I've found it."_

 _{Understood. We're on our way.}_

He closed the line and looked at Smokescreen. Smokescreen saw his own repressed hope in the Scout's eyes. He wanted to be excited, he wanted to be thrilled. But he didn't want to let his hope get away from him, just in case it was dashed. He didn't think he could take it if he let himself hope too much.

"Race you back to base," Smokescreen challenged, but Bumblebee shook his head.

 _{I'll be in enough trouble without coming in hot.}_

Smokescreen shrugged, made a passing remark about Bumblebee's being a coward, and the two of them transformed. Despite what he'd said, Bumblebee set the pace at well above the speed limit. Because it wasn't an emergency, they didn't use the Ground Bridge. The energy cost for powering the bridge was too high to just use it casually. Besides, it gave them time to absorb what Ratchet had said, and to prepare themselves just in case it wasn't the solution they were hoping for.

* * *

Bumblebee was not wrong about being in trouble. Arcee was waiting for them when they got back.

"Bumblebee, where did you go? How could you leave without telling anyone?" she demanded, "You can't just go off by yourself like that."

Bumblebee gazed at her levelly, _{I didn't know I still needed a Warrior's permission to go for a drive.}_

Arcee faltered. It wasn't Bumblebee's habit to make stinging remarks, least of all towards her.

"Bumblebee!" Ratchet's tone was of rebuke, but Optimus stopped him with a quiet hand on his shoulder.

"Bumblebee," Optimus said gently, but sternly, "You know full well that it has nothing to do with your being a Scout. It is dangerous for any one of us to leave the base without informing anyone of what we are doing. You know that as well as anyone. Why would you take such a risk?"

"He did it for me, Optimus," Smokescreen interrupted suddenly, "I needed to go for a drive, clear my head. Bumblebee went with me. I... I thought you might've said no if we asked."

Bumblebee made a buzz of protest, but before he'd managed a word, Optimus raised his hand to silence them all.

"There will be time to sort this out later," he turned to Ratchet.

"Right," Ratchet nodded, and hefted an unfamiliar object off the table.

Smokescreen regarded it suspiciously. It looked uncomfortably like some kind of a gun. Bumblebee was more neutral in his appraisal of it. In fact, the Scout looked less uneasy than Ratchet himself.

"The only way to really test it is on one of you," Ratchet confessed, "So I won't tell you there's no risk. It might not work. There might be some negative side effect I haven't calculated. It's possible-"

Bumblebee cut him off, stepping forward, _{If you need a volunteer, you have one.}_

Smokescreen was somewhat surprised. Bumblebee had just said that he would learn to live with their new handicap if he had to not even an hour ago. The uncertainty in Ratchet's voice suggested that the bizarre contraption he'd put together to counteract the effects of the NIWE device might prove very dangerous. Smokescreen knew Bumblebee didn't want to die, so why would he be so willing to take that risk?

"It could just make things worse," Ratchet warned, "It's even possible it could kill you."

Bumblebee looked at him steadily and answered, _{And the Decepticons have all the information they need to build another NIWE device. And they will do just that, unless we find a way to neutralize its effect. We need to make the NIWE useless to them. And we all know this is the way to do it.}_

Of course. That was why. To protect his fellow Autobots, Bumblebee would do anything.

"I don't like this," Arcee said, "Can't we use something besides one of our own as a test subject?"

Bumblebee turned to look at her, and there was a gentle humor in his eyes, an unspoken apology for his earlier testy remark towards her, _{Don't think of it as being a 'test subject'. Think of it as scouting ahead. I'm a Scout, this is what I do,}_ he turned back to Ratchet, _{Ready when you are.}_

Ratchet looked to Optimus who, with the slightest tilt of his head, gave his consent. Ratchet stepped closer to Bumblebee and placed the end of his device against Bumblebee's chest plate. Bumblebee looked down at the device, and then calmly at Ratchet. The medic hesitated, but the Scout seemed very self assured, completely composed. Smokescreen wondered if he would ever be able to take the possibility of his own demise so quietly.

A quiet thrumming accompanied the device's activation. A soft light built up inside of it, pale blue shone from its interior. A pulse told of its firing, and Smokescreen observed the blue light seem to dance across Bumblebee's outer shell, then slowly run itself out and disappear. Bumblebee jerked slightly when the energy hit him, but otherwise showed almost no reaction to it at all.

Ratchet withdrew the gun and stepped back.

They all watched as the Scout stood still, his optics shifting, focusing and unfocusing as his system processed and reacted to the newly introduced energy. Abruptly, his eyes went almost totally black and he whirled. Smokescreen jumped back as the Scout brushed past him, moving to the nearest wall. Without pausing, Bumblebee landed a solid punch, which shook the steel support beams beneath the concrete, which cracked at the impact.

"Bumblebee..." Ratchet began, but Optimus stopped him with a raised hand.

Bumblebee stood there, trembling, his fist through the wall. A warning buzz emanated from him, which solidified itself into a low, feral sounding whirring. Slowly, he withdrew his fist and turned. His eyes first landed on Bulkhead, who flinched at the darkness of them.

"Easy, Bee," Bulkhead said, holding his hands out in a placating way, "We're all friends here, remember? Just take it easy."

Bumblebee whirred dangerously and took a step towards him, before abruptly halting, shaking his head. The sibilant noise which escaped him then was more a growl than anything. Hands fisted at his sides, Bumblebee seemed to be fighting for control of himself, to restrain himself. The blue part of his optics was almost entirely invisible.

"Bumblebee," the Scout twitched in the direction of Optimus' voice, but didn't look at him, "Do not listen to the anger inside you. It does not know reason. Therefore, it cannot control you. Do not allow it to consume who you are. Face it, and quiet it. Come back to us."

Bumblebee's shuddered and, for a moment, Smokescreen feared he wouldn't listen to Optimus. Then, the Scout's eyes suddenly rotated, the excessive black clearing away, letting the familiar blue shine through again. Bumblebee burred -a sigh of relief- and relaxed.

He turned and nodded to Optimus, and then to Ratchet, _{I'm alright.}_

"Bee..." Arcee's voice sounded hesitant, uncertain.

The Scout looked at her, and a buzz that was more an expression of joy than anything escaped him.

 _{Arcee, I'm alright,}_ this time there was no mistaking his meaning.

Ratchet's cure had worked.

"I want to run some tests, and be sure there aren't any negative side effects," Ratchet said after a moment, looking from one Autobot to another until his gaze settled on Smokescreen, "Then it'll be your turn."

Abruptly, Smokescreen felt fear twist through him. In a flash, he remembered what he'd done right after being hit by the blast from the NIWE. How angry he'd become, how he'd attacked Bumblebee. Then he remembered Bumblebee's eyes a moment before, black with unreasoning rage. Bumblebee could handle it, but Smokescreen... he shook his head.

"No. No, I... I can't," he shook his head again, clenching his hands into fists at his sides, and avoiding looking at any of the Autobots, "Bumblebee said we could deal with this on our own... and that's what I'm going to do."

"Smokescreen, don't be foolish," Ratchet began, but Smokescreen interrupted him, still shaking.

"No, I've got to do this on my own. I can't..." he froze when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Realizing he'd closed his eyes, he opened them and found himself looking right at Bumblebee.

 _{Sometimes it takes more courage to admit you need help than not to,}_ Bumblebee said quietly, _{I didn't let you crash before, remember? And I won't now.}_

"But what if I can't control it?" Smokescreen whispered, "What if I hurt someone?"

 _{You won't. I won't let you,}_ Bumblebee said, _{I went first so you'd know it was possible. Now it's your turn, Smokescreen. Trust me. You'll be alright. I..}_ he broke off, looking around at the others before correcting himself, _{..._ We _will help you. You don't have to be afraid.}_

Smokescreen hesitated a moment more, finding it unusually difficult to hold eye contact with the Scout. Finally, he bowed his head and nodded.

"Alright. I'll do it."

 _{And we'll be there to catch you if you fall,}_ Bumblebee assured him.


	24. Chapter 24

Knockout was trying -and failing- to focus on the task at hand, when suddenly the door to his lab opened to admit Soundwave.

"What do you want?" Knockout grumbled, "Can't you see I'm busy?"

On the empty face of the Decepticon tactician, there flashed what appeared to be a satellite image, with a glowing dot in the center of it. Soundwave emitted a pinging noise. Knockout just frowned at him. Then he jumped as Megatron entered after Soundwave and explained.

"Soundwave has picked up the energy signature of the NIWE device. It seems the Autobots have returned it to the place where it crashed, no doubt with the intention of destroying it."

Knockout felt eagerness stirring inside, which he swiftly clamped down.

"I suppose you want us to go and retrieve it?" Knockout sighed, finding the idea abhorrent.

He was already struggling _not_ to build another, he didn't think he'd be able to stand having it around. He needed it completely gone so he could escape the hold it had on him, but he didn't dare erase the information from his hard drive because Megatron might punish him if he did. Even if not, he wasn't sure he had the conviction it took. His mind still felt chaotic and jumbled, and he was almost irresistibly tempted to go back to that emptiness and apathy rather than face each day as it was now.

"You found a cure for its effects. Doubtless the Autobot medic did as well, likely in half the time," Knockout grit his teeth, forcing himself not to react to the slight with anger, "That there is a cure known to all renders the device useless. You may go, and do with it as you will. I do not care."

As Megatron walked away, Knockout realized this was as close to closure as the Decepticon leader would let him get. Soundwave pinged again, and Knockout studied the map for a long, silent moment.

"I take it that you want to go there," Knockout said, "You know the Autobots probably mean to destroy it if they've found a cure, or if they've realized they don't need the device itself to make one."

Soundwave was silent, but his silence spoke volumes. Knockout nodded.

"Alright, fine. I'll come with you. It's not like I have anything better to do."

* * *

"Are you sure it was a good idea to let them go?" Arcee asked Optimus.

"Bumblebee and Smokescreen need to do this for themselves," he replied, "As long as the Negative Induction Wave Emitter exists, they will never be truly free of it."

Arcee fell silent. She knew a thing or two about being a hostage to the past, and -more importantly- to a state of misery. Sometimes it was scarier to break free of the chains of misery than to be held a prisoner. When you'd been in the dark long enough, the light on the other side could be blinding. It could be tempting to go back to the dark place, just because it had become familiar, and what lay beyond it was like an alien landscape, unknown and fraught with unimaginable perils. If you just gave in, then you didn't have to be afraid of failing or taking one step back for each two forward. It was easier to just be in the dark sometimes, because -if you were in that place long enough- you began to believe the lies that it told you, and to think of it as normal... as home.

She remembered how terrified Smokescreen had looked when it was his turn for the cure. He'd nearly started tearing the base apart, but Bumblebee and Optimus held onto him until the first wave of rage passed. A flicker of new fear had come into his eyes then, the same which Arcee had seen in Bumblebee's when he'd first been cured. It was there and gone in an instant, but it was almost like he'd regretted the change, like the cure was more frightening to him than the sickness had been.

"But letting them go alone..." Ratchet said.

"Only they can free themselves now," Optimus replied, "If we were to destroy the NIWE device for them, they would not be truly free of its hold. We have done what we can, now they must do this."

"What if they don't?" Arcee asked quietly, "What if they can't?"

"That is a choice they must make," Optimus said evenly, "We must believe they have the strength to make the correct decision. And not abandon them if they do not."

Arcee nodded her understanding, but still her eyes were troubled.

* * *

The NIWE device loomed huge and menacing. Its dark gray metallic surface, offset by the purple light emanating from within it, shone in the bright sunlight. It was like a sleeping leviathan. Still, despite its immense size, it simply did not seem as large as it had the day they'd first laid eyes on it.

Bumblebee suspected the sun had something to do with it. When they'd first come here, it had been pouring rain. It had been dark, and gray. Today was bright and sunny at this location, and the rains of the past had drawn new life from the dark earth. The last green grasses of the year reached up towards the sky, late season flowers bloomed in fields. Birds preparing to migrate gathered in the trees and sang to one another noisily. The leaves of the trees had begun to turn all the colors of fire: red, orange, yellow, copper and gold.

But there was another reason the NIWE was diminished in his eyes. It no longer stood as an unknown. He knew what it was, what it was for, and how to survive its wrath. This was just a demon he'd faced and won. He'd won his life, in more ways than one. Some part of Bumblebee knew that, someday, a monster would come that he could not defeat. Someday, he'd lose a fight, and it would cost him his life. But today was not that day. Today, he was free.

He still felt strained. His systems, physical and psychological, had adjusted to the emptiness of his existence, and now he felt overcrowded, and nothing he felt seemed natural somehow. But he knew it would pass, as had the pain of learning to function with his mangled voice. It would pass, as had the unbearable grief of a planet lost to this war. He would never be quite as he was before, and there would be moments when he would feel just as he did right now, conflicted and unsure. But those moments would pass, and he would go on. He knew how to live with scars.

For Smokescreen, this was likely the first of many. Bumblebee grieved for that lost innocence. Still, he knew Smokescreen was strong. If he so chose, the young Autobot would also continue. Somehow, Bumblebee got the sense that he would make that choice. Smokescreen believed in his own great destiny, and was convinced that -with his help- the Autobots would soon defeat Megatron. Optimism. Perhaps even foolish hope. It didn't matter. Smokescreen could see a future that was a bright one. That meant he had more going for him than most. He had hope, and the faith to carry him through.

"Think we can really just blast it?" Smokescreen asked, "That's what started all this off after all."

 _{Ratchet says he deactivated its firing mechanism. There's no danger of it going off again.}_

Smokescreen shuddered, "I hope not."

 _{That isn't what you're really worried about,}_ Bumblebee said.

"How would you know?" Smokescreen asked.

 _{Because I've been where you are now.}_

"And that would be?"

 _{Wondering who you are, what you'll become, if you can possibly survive it if this happens again. And, let me tell you now, it_ will _happen again. You_ are _going to be hurt again. You will find yourself in the dark again. Because that's a part of what life is, especially the life we lead. But you've gone through it once now, and you know now that there is a light on the other side. You'll doubt it, you'll think maybe there isn't a light, that maybe there won't be anything next time but the darkness. But some part of you knows now. You can make it back to the light. You can_ always _make it back to the light. If you choose to try,}_ he shrugged and turned away from Smokescreen, towards the NIWE, _{Or you could just go back now, and never have to fight it again. Just let it have you. Forever.}_

Smokescreen stared at Bumblebee, his eyes widening. Bumblebee looked back at him quietly.

"I don't believe you just said that," Smokescreen said, "You think I want that..." he nodded contemptuously towards the NIWE, "back in my life? No way."

 _{Then destroy it.}_

Smokescreen immediately activated his weaponry and took aim. It wasn't until he felt himself hesitate that he realized Bumblebee was right. Some part of him didn't want to destroy it. Some part of him wanted to go back. It was a lot easier to be broken than to glue yourself back together, especially when you were never really the same after. It would be so much easier to just... not care.

"No," He growled, powering up to fire.

He was interrupted by Bumblebee's shouted warning.

 _{Decepticons!}_

Smokescreen swung around to see Soundwave coming in hot and fast, right for them. He dove for cover with Bumblebee, but the Decepticon did not pursue. Instead, Soundwave opened fire on the NIWE. Unbelievably, his first two shots missed. He swept past, barely skimming above the ground, and then swung back. By this time, Bumblebee had figured out what he was here for.

 _{Finish this,}_ Smokescreen didn't know if the Scout addressed him or Soundwave, but he realized it didn't matter. Soundwave had come to destroy the NIWE, not fight Autobots.

Smokescreen, Bumblebee and Soundwave all opened fire on the device. It had no shields, no means of defense. But it still took several shots before it began to spark. They maintained firing until the first spark grew and burst into a flame. A ground shaking explosion followed, and the two Autobots nearly lost their balance. Soundwave swooped over the wreckage of the NIWE, as if checking for survivors. The fireball from a secondary explosion nearly caught his wing, but he banked just in time to evade it.

Smokescreen started to raise his blaster to fire at Soundwave, but Bumblebee caught his arm.

 _{Not today.}_

They watched as Soundwave swept away from them, noticing only once it was over that Knockout had been watching from a distance. With a roar of his engine, Knockout spun around and chased after Soundwave. In moments, both Decepticons were lost to sight, leaving only the Autobots to watch as the NIWE burned itself out.

"I guess even Decepticons need closure," Smokescreen observed, then turned to Bumblebee with a sigh, "You were right. I don't know why, but..." he trailed off helplessly.

 _{There is something attractive about just not giving a damn.}_

"A what?" Smokescreen asked, baffled.

 _{Earth lingo,}_ Bumblebee replied, _{You start picking it up after a few decades.}_

* * *

"I suppose now you'll want me to thank you," Knockout remarked as he and Soundwave returned to the _Nemesis_.

Soundwave tilted his head slightly towards Knockout, but of course said nothing.

"Except that we both know you didn't do that for me. Or even for yourself," Knockout shook his head, "Do you ever do anything without thinking about Megatron?" he scoffed at Soundwave's continued silence, "Of course not. You looked at that device, and realized it was distracting the both of us from our life of service to Lord Megatron."

Soundwave continued to regard him in silence, and Knockout felt a prickle of doubt.

"But you destroyed it _yourself_. You didn't have to. The Autobots would have done it for you, meaning you expended energy when you didn't have to, took a risk when it wasn't necessary," Knockout said thoughtfully, a sly look coming into his eyes, "Now why would you ever do something like that?"

On the blank screen that served him in place of a face, Soundwave called up an image. The same image he had used to show Megatron what had happened. The blinding white flash of the NIWE device when it was activated. Staring at the image, Knockout thought he could faintly make out something in all the brilliance, a form. The NIWE device? A Cybertronian? He couldn't be certain but he thought it might actually be himself.

Was it possible that Soundwave had done something not based in logic? Something not for furthering the glory of Megatron? If so, why?

Soundwave just walked away, leaving Knockout with only questions.

* * *

The two Autobots stayed and watched the fire reach for the sky, the tendrils of black smoke climbing higher and higher. But the fire had its limit. It could not burn forever. Slowly, as a dying beast unwilling to give up, the fire began to fade away, and the smoke was shortly to follow.

Even when there was nothing left but a heap of blackened metal and ash, the two Autobots still lingered. Somehow, it seemed like there ought to be something more. But this was all there was. The NIWE was destroyed. The fire had burned itself out. And, tomorrow, life would go on as always.

"Race you home?" Smokescreen asked.

Bumblebee hesitated, then nodded, _{Home.}_


	25. Postscript

**_A/N: Apologies for the late upload, there were technical difficulties, but here it is now.  
_** _ **Thank you all for reading (and reviewing), I hope you liked it, and I hope you enjoy the postscript. Thank you and goodnight everybody.**_

 _Set post episode "Inside Job"_

* * *

"One good thing did come out of today," Bulkhead said.

"Really?" Arcee asked, "And what could that possibly be?"

Bulkhead smiled wryly, "We proved the time Smoke spent watching the birds dive for fish wasn't completely wasted."

"Hey yeah, that's right," Smokescreen said brightly, "I'd totally be dead if I hadn't learned how to roll in midair like those birds do."

Arcee opened her mouth to speak, found she had nothing to say, and so closed it again.

"I realize that's a small consolation prize," Smokescreen said, soberly, "But... uh... thanks."

Arcee looked up at him, "What for?"

"Teaching me how to fly."

 _{That wasn't flying,}_ Bumblebee pointed out, speaking for the first time in awhile, _{That was falling.}_

"Well yeah," Smokescreen admitted, "But I did it with style."

Bumblebee buzzed something not quite articulate.

"What?" Smokescreen asked, mystified by the response.

"We need to work on your knowledge of Earth's pop culture," Bulkhead supplied when Bumblebee failed to answer.

"Which is... what exactly?" Smokescreen inquired.

 _{Confusing.}_

"I think you mean, 'incomprehensible'," Arcee corrected.

 _{That too.}_

"Then what's the point in trying to learn about it?" Smokescreen asked innocently.

Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee all exchanged glances. Bumblebee shrugged.

"We... don't actually... know," Bulkhead admitted slowly.

"Jack says it's fun," Arcee said, "And that people use it to communicate complex ideas."

"Like a kind of code," Smokescreen said, "And we need to know it so we can understand them, right?"

"Eh..." Bulkhead shrugged and looked to Bumblebee, who just looked back at him, so he said, "Not exactly. Humans are still pretty much a mystery."

"Then I don't get it," Smokescreen said.

Bumblebee put a hand on his shoulder and said, _{It's just like learning to fly. You won't know why you need to know it until you do.}_

"That's very deep, Bee," Bulkhead said.

 _{Thanks,}_ he said, then asked Smokescreen, _{How do you feel about rock music?}_

The question caught Smokescreen wholly off-guard. He was pretty sure he knew what rocks were, but he was equally certain that what he was thinking of did not make any kind of music.

"About what now?"

"Oh boy," Bulkhead shook his head.

"Here we go," Arcee laid her face against her palm.

 _{That's it, you're coming with me,}_ Bumblebee said, transforming and then twitching a mirror towards Arcee and Bulkhead, _{How about you two?}_

"Now?" Arcee asked meaningfully.

 _{Oh like you have something better to do,}_ Bumblebee remarked.

"I uh... just remembered that... uh..." Bulkhead inched away, "Ratchet needed my help with... uh... something."

"And I'm going to help him help Ratchet," Arcee said quickly.

 _{Suit yourselves,}_ Bumblebee said, then turned a mirror in Smokescreen's direction, _{We'll pick up the kids on the way. Come on.}_

"I don't even know where we're going," Smokescreen told him, but transformed obediently.

 _{A rock concert is a thing you have to experience to understand.}_

Smokescreen regarded Bumblebee in the same manner as he would someone who had taken leave of all their senses. Truth be told, he was beginning to wonder if the Scout had.

 _{Trust me, Smokescreen.}_

* * *

"I don't suppose you intend to help me get out of this wall any time soon," Knockout remarked to Soundwave as the tactician walked down the hall to do... something, it didn't much matter what.

Soundwave paused and cocked his head at Knockout, saying nothing and thereby saying everything.

Knockout sighed, "I didn't think so."

Knockout was angry about Smokescreen having outsmarted him, angry Megatron saw fit to leave him here in this absurd predicament, and now angry at Soundwave for just standing there and staring at him instead of either going away or helping him.

Then he sighed. Being angry wasn't really worth it. He reminded himself of his own value. Sooner or later, Megatron would have to release him. He only hoped it wouldn't be too much longer. He was already beginning to feel dusty, and the idea of having to redo his paint job again so soon after the last time was pretty abhorrent. He smiled inwardly, not because he had anything in particular to be happy about just now, but because he knew that, _eventually_ , he would.

For the first time in a long time, Knockout was beginning to feel normal. Or like himself at least. His feelings of anger, fear, frustration... they were finally his again. He was angry because of the injustice of being trapped in this ridiculous position, fearful of how long he'd have to endure it, frustrated because he was having to put up with it in the first place. But it all tied back to a very specific reason.

He deserved better than this. His displeasure was brought about by the fact that - _finally-_ he loved being himself again. He was concerned for his paint job again. He was concerned for his personal safety again. He was concerned about his _future_ again. But no more than was perfectly reasonable, all things considered. He was confident in the knowledge that, sooner or later, Megatron would have need of his services again. He would not be in this wall for very much longer.

What would happen after that he didn't know. Whatever it was though, he would be ready for it. He had no intention of lying down and dying. Not anymore. He deserved better than this and, eventually, that would be exactly what he would get. He was sure of it.

"Oh stop staring," Knockout growled at Soundwave, "This isn't an art gallery."

Soundwave remained just long enough to ensure that Knockout knew he wasn't leaving because the medic had told him to but because he felt like it, and then walked away. Knockout rolled his eyes. Some of the bots around here were simply insufferable. Then he sighed again.

 _There has got to be a better way to live,_ he thought.

It would be some time before he discovered what that way was, but he began to think about it almost immediately. He knew that there was something better, he had only to find it. Given time to think, he intended to do exactly that. Just now, he seemed to have a great deal of that, and very little else.

* * *

Bumblebee kicked his engine to life and it roared within him. Smokescreen was just a beat behind him, but Bumblebee was still the first to get in gear and spin toward the exit, launching himself forward with a surge of excited power. Smokescreen was right behind him, knowing that Bumblebee was urging him to race again. It was a long, straight road of many miles before they'd get anywhere near something like civilization. Out here, speed restrictions didn't really apply.

This time too, it was plain that Bumblebee was genuinely into it. He did not allow Smokescreen to pass him once they got out of the tunnel, swinging from one lane to another to block Smokescreen from passing him. For a moment, Smokescreen felt rising frustration. Then he smiled inwardly, for this was exactly the sort of conflict he most enjoyed. To pit his own great speed against an opponent who could challenge him was the most wonderful thing in the world, and he absolutely loved it.

He settled down to race, knowing he'd have to use more than mere speed to get past Bumblebee. Smokescreen had recently come to understand that Bumblebee was long used to working with a handicap. Smokescreen was faster, but he'd still have to get past Bee before it would do him a bit of good. And Bumblebee wasn't about to let him do that easily.

It was a magnificent day for a race. The sky was a clear, crystal blue with just a few wisps of white clouds, the fine reddish sand of the desert was tossed into the air by the wind the two vehicles generated as they sped past, their engines roaring. The bright sun turned the road ahead into an uncertain haze, but that didn't bother Smokescreen or Bumblebee because they knew something of what lay ahead, and for the moment they trusted what they couldn't see. Up above, Smokescreen observed a lone bird circling off to his left, a black shape against the blue sky. The road stretched before him, endless black with streaks of white and lines of yellow upon its smooth surface. Red rock formations sailed past, flat desert lay ahead, but Smokescreen did not fear any of it, nor the secrets the world around him seemed to hold. He wasn't alone, and he understood now that he never had been.

Bumblebee would race him, but the Scout would not leave him behind. Not now, not ever. If he got lost, he could trust the Autobots to lead him home again. He still had faith in destiny, but he also understood now that he must have faith in his fellow Autobots because it was they who would act as teachers and guides, showing him the way to become the Autobot he'd always been meant to be.

With a start, he realized he'd also learned something else. These Autobots, they weren't just fellow soldiers, not even just teachers and guides. He could hardly call them his friends, for he barely knew them. Still he knew, with stark clarity, that they were his family now. And, just as they were his, he was also theirs. It was a new feeling for him. He found that he liked it. He liked it a lot.

"Comin' up on your right, Bee," Smokescreen warned once he had his front bumper even with Bumblebee's right back fender.

 _{As if,}_ Bumblebee responded, turning sharply and finding an extra burst of speed to inch his way back in front of Smokescreen; cutting him off effectively.

"You were going easy on me last time!" Smokescreen shouted.

 _{You just figured that out?}_ Bumblebee shot back.

Smokescreen felt a flush of irritation, but it was tinged with amusement and he felt more playful than anything. It was in his nature to fight to succeed at everything he undertook, whatever the context. Some would call it a competitive spirit. For Smokescreen, that's just who he was. He didn't like to lose, though he was learning that losing was a part of being in a war; you just didn't win every time. However, here and now this wasn't a war, it was a race, and Smokescreen had no intention of losing out to a vehicle whose top speed was twenty miles lower than his own. That would just be embarrassing.

 _{Come on, Smoke, is that all you've got?}_ Bumblebee challenged, _{You ready to quit?}_

A prickle of anger made itself felt, but it was far overshadowed by the joy of the race, of simply being alive and able to hit such dizzying speed, of having a brother who was able and willing to give him this challenge, who'd never allow him to be less than he was, who would dare him always to try, to fight, to live, to bring the best he had to everything he did every day of his life. He knew he was lucky, because a lot of people didn't have that. Instead, they had to make their way alone, fending off the darkness of life with nothing but what they had inside them. Smokescreen knew now that he would never really be alone. Never again.

Smokescreen feinted to the left, then swung back to the right as Bumblebee moved to block him. He accelerated sharply, feeling his tires fly over the pavement as he came up on Bumblebee, finally pulling even. Bumblebee's side mirror twitched at finding Smokescreen there, but he gathered himself and demanded still greater speed from his engine and it answered. Astonishingly, Bumblebee held even with Smokescreen for a number of seconds, surely reaching this speed through sheer willpower.

Then, finally, he started to drop behind. Smokescreen knew he'd won, that there was miles of road ahead that were safe to drive at this speed. But he looked in his mirror and saw the Scout fall farther behind, power of will giving way under the limits of horsepower.

Suddenly, Smokescreen decelerated, falling back until he was even with Bumblebee once more.

 _{What's the matter?}_ Bumblebee asked.

"You didn't really think I was gonna leave you behind, did you?" Smokescreen responded, "I've got nothing to prove, and the road's more fun when you've got somebody to share it with."

 _{You know,}_ Bumblebee said mildly, _{Given a few eons of practice, you could become pretty smart.}_

"Until then," Smokescreen said, "I know you've got my back."

 _{Always.}_

* * *

We all have to face the darkness inside. Not just once, but many times. How we choose to do that is what makes us who we are. Those who go through the deepest darkness, and refuse to let it destroy them, they are forged in fire, and become something stronger for it. It is not in the light that we find our strength, but in the darkness we must pass through to get there. It is in our darkest moments, faced with a sense of utter hopelessness, that we find out who we are, and what we can be. Out of that darkness, if we make the choice, we can become something stronger. Something better. It may not feel like it, but there is a light. So no matter how deep the darkness you find yourself in is, or how long you've been there, don't stop. And don't try to go back to where you were before, because you can't. Keep moving forward, and seek the light. Because, if you look, sooner or later you will find the light again. There is always hope. Take it from someone who's been in the dark. It's always worth the pain to make it through. It is always worth it to fight.

We were meant to be courageous. So be courageous, and never let the darkness win.

* * *

" _And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."  
 **-1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)**_


End file.
